


Raison D'être

by Yilena



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, Elemental Magic, F/M, Fantasy, Ghosts, Minor Character Death, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 00:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15328071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yilena/pseuds/Yilena
Summary: Marinette had been different from everyone for all her life. With a best friend stuck at sixteen, an affinity for an element that scared her, and a way with words that only caused trouble, her life changes when she meets someone like her. AU.





	Raison D'être

**Author's Note:**

> For _orchids-and-lilacs_! Thank you so much for requesting this and giving me so much freedom. I really hope this qualifies as an elemental enemies au, I really do. It just seemed... really hard to actually get them to hate each other? So it's very one-sided when it does happen. This was supposed to be a fun story but it's turned out to be probably the most angst-filled one I have. Not sure whether I need to put in a warning, but Mari's a bit damaged in this. Also, I'm pretty sure it's my one million word story!! (*¯︶¯*)

_Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

Lounging on her sofa, an arm stretched out behind for her to rest on, Marinette was dozing off from the warm sun that was coming in through the window. It was rare that she was left to herself when the weather was good, and the height of summer the past years had proved to be annoying for her job. The calls came through constantly, and although she rejected most of them—just like when she did if the weather was terrible—there was still a need for money.

The peace was ruined by her friend clearing her throat beside her.

Marinette opened her eyes with a frown. “What?”

“You put your phone on silent this morning,” was the tart reply she received from Chloé. “As much as I'd like to make it stop _vibrating_ , it's a waste of my energy.”

With a non-committal noise, Marinette closed her eyes and turned back to face the window, promptly ignoring her friend.

Rather than just reply, Chloé kicked the back of her leg with enough strength to make it sting. It wasn't as strong as a slap, but it still startled Marinette enough for her to sit up and turn around to stare at her in accusation.

Chloé tossed some of her long blond hair behind her shoulder as she studied her nails innocently.

“And that's not a waste?” Marinette muttered, pressing the palm of her hands into her blue eyes in an attempt to wake up quicker. “Now you won't be able to change the channel if I leave the television on something bad.”

Chloé continued to stare at her hands. “Worth it.”

“You're a brat,” she accused, walking slowly towards her bedroom to see whether she could find her phone or not.

“Just because you're older than me now doesn't make you mature.” Chloé sniffed, silently trailing along beside her. “Besides, someone has to act as your boss around here, otherwise you'd just slack off all day.”

Without any heat, Marinette replied, “Fuck off.”

“Why would I do that?” Chloé questioned insincerely. “You're the best company.”

Not bothering to look up when she found the phone, she pointed out as she checked her missed calls and messages, “I'm your _only_ company.”

“Well, that's a point we don't need to acknowledge right now.”

There was at least ten. It seemed that word had gotten out about her business from the past few days, and although she should've been glad that that was the case, she couldn't help feeling a bit guilty. It—it wasn't something she was proud of, not even when she was self-employed and doing well; in terms of financial standing, at least. Her morals, however, were constantly causing her to feel neglected.

“Oh, I know that look,” Chloé announced with a tone of disapproval, and the bed didn't move as she sat down beside her. “You're feeling guilty again, aren't you?”

She deadpanned, “I live in a constant state of guilt.”

“Congratulations, you're a mess,” Chloé said dryly. “I'm not going to feel sorry for you when I'm not even able to open a door.”

Marinette turned to stare at her with an exasperated look. “That's because you used up most of your energy just to kick me.”

“Because you need to go out and earn us money!” Chloé threw her hands up in exasperation. “Come on, let's go con some addicts so we can get a better television. There's at least one pixel that's permanently white on our current one.”

The weather was warm and there was a least three people that lived nearby that she could choose from, but it was the thought of splurging and buying something expensive for dinner that had her sighing as she got up and declared, “You're a terrible influence, you did know that, right?”

Chloé snorted. “Mari, I raised you, of course I'm terrible.”

It hadn't always been that way. Back in her early teens, Marinette had worked odd jobs when her foster parents had allowed it, fluttering between them when the hours got too inconvenient, and when she graduated from schooling, rather than choosing to pursue further education, she chose to protect herself by getting a job in a nearby café.

It just wasn't enough to pay the rent of the cheap apartment that she'd started out in. The family she'd grown up with, the last one from when she was fourteen, were kind, but they wouldn't keep her on and support her once she was legal. It was understandable, really, as they'd had their own children—the youngest a few months older than Marinette—and keeping her there, too, was straining on their funds. She'd had somewhat fond feelings for them, but it wasn't enough to make her reach out and keep in contact with them by herself, not when she hadn't really felt like family to any of them.

A family friend would've been more accurate.

The whispers that had followed her in screen had disappeared, but living by herself didn't make her feel any better. If anything, only being in the presence of those that weren't interested in her friendship had helped her her feel more self-loathing on the worst days, and others, she wouldn't whether anyone would notice if she disappeared.

Putting on a light long cardigan, Marinette put her belongings in the pocket, tucking her dark-coloured hair behind her ears as she put a cap on.

Holding the doors open for longer than necessary on her journey, she arranged to meet one client in the parking lot of a nearby supermarket. She squinted as she looked up at the sun, regretting not getting her sunglasses beforehand, and tuned Chloé out as she continued to natter on as they walked.

“Stay by the street to check for me?” she requested when they'd almost reached their destination. Her shirt was already sticking to her uncomfortably, and but the pockets of her shorts were far too small to fit any of her belongings in. When she looked up to see Chloé's frown, she sighed. “Please? You know it's a hassle if I have to deal with police.”

It barely took a few seconds for Chloé to give in and say, “You're so lucky I like you.”

She snorted. “As if you'd leave me for anyone else.”

Chloé trudged towards a low wall so she could sit on top of it and observe the road, following Marinette's request. There was no discomfort for her no matter the surface she sat on, not even when it was stone against the bare skin of her legs; the t-shirt and underwear with lace along the edges hadn't changed in all the years that they'd known each other.

“What happened to you?” Chloé said with a moan, dramatically sitting down, elbows on her knees and head resting her hands. “You used to be such a cute kid.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “I had to deal with your ass for years.”

Chloé made an offended noise. “I'm the cutest ghost you know!”

Instead of replying, Marinette rudely raised her middle finger and walked into the parking lot.

There had been a time where she'd been afraid of Chloé, utterly terrified that no one else could see a teenage girl that was walking around scantily clad, but that had been back when she was a child. Growing up while seeing beings that no one else could definitely led to her questioning her sanity, but Chloé had been there to guide her (or, rather; scare her silly until she approached Marinette as if she was startled animal when she was younger in hopes of befriending her).

In a way, Chloé had been more of a parent to her than anyone else, regardless of the fact that she was permanently stuck in her sixteen-year-old body (a rough guess that they both liked), complete with the pyjamas she wore the day that she died—well, that was what they learned later, after Chloé had struggled and used all her energy to pick up clothing, only for it to not stay on her body.

With a talent of schooling her expression to hide her surprise when she passed spirits on a daily basis—some wandering the streets aimlessly, others just sat where a car accident had taken place, gazing mournfully at their bodies—Marinette had perfected her skill of being indifferent. It had been hard at school, especially when she freaked out in the classroom while no one else could see the things that she could, and that only led to more drama when her emotions went astray.

Leaning against a wall in the shade, it was barely a minute later that her phone vibrated with a message from who she was supposed to be meeting.

They were late.

When they finally arrived, she greeted them with a frown. They weren't one of her regulars, but they had been recommended by one of them, and she'd only accepted due to the quantity that he wanted.

He gave her the money first.

Marinette slipped it into her pocket, not taking her wallet out completely due to one time where they'd attempted to snatch it, and then reached up to brush some hair behind her ear.

“Thanks for coming to me,” she said, not bothering to put on a polite smile as she looked directly into their eyes. “You really enjoyed this batch, and by the time you speak to your friends and recommend me, you'll have already finished it all, so you can't share any.”

It wasn't so much of a glazed over look, but their facial features slackened, any tension in their posture melting away as they relaxed and accepted her words with ease.

She sighed as she walked past, saying a soft, “See you.”

Chloé perked up like an excited pet when she came into view, jumping off of the wall without making any noise. There was never any noises when she interacted with things; unless she used her limited energy actually interact with objects, she could sit on them, but not alter their existence. It was the reason Marinette hovered in doorways, allowing her friend to pass before she closed it behind them.

“You got it?” Chloé questioned, pulling her blonde hair into a high ponytail.

It was lucky she'd died with a hairband in her wrist.

“Yeah,” Marinette confirmed, yawning into her open hand, tears forming in her eyes from how long it lasted. “Want to order something expensive to eat tomorrow?”

She jutted her lower lip out dramatically. “I don't have enough energy for that.”

“The weekend, then,” Marinette amended, regretting her choice of footwear, only just stopping herself from saying it aloud. “I should probably meet someone else, shouldn't I?”

“It is your job,” Chloé agreed vaguely with a shrug. “You're okay for a good few months for rent, but you're definitely seeing a lot less people than before.”

Before she didn't have any savings, and reluctantly scamming people had been nerve-wracking for her. “I'm just tired.”

“You sleep most of the day away,” Chloé muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. The weather didn't affect her, meaning the lack of brassiere never became an issue when it was chilly. Her body was as it had been before the accident that had killed her, meaning there wasn't any gore or missing limbs that she had to walk around with eternally. “You barely pay attention to me nowadays.”

A pang of guilt hit her. She—it was just _tiring_.

“I—” Marinette started, cutting herself off to swallow audibly as she stared down at the pavement that they were walking on.

There wasn't anyone in her life, not really. Her conversations were with dead people, ones that could use a burst of energy to jostle or grab onto her and although what they were saying didn't make sense, but they could still _yell_. They could stand in front of her, follow behind her and ruin any plans that she already had, making it incredibly hard to do anything, let alone think.

They were distracting, loud, and when she'd been a child, she'd sobbed and curled into a ball, trying to drown out the sounds by putting her hands over her ears as her heart raced in terror. The caretakers couldn't tell her what was happening, and the other other orphans that she'd lived with had snickered and made fun of her when she spoke to thin air before bursting into fits of panic out of nowhere. The families she'd stayed with hadn't been understanding, and when the school nurse had tentatively asked her whether her parents could help her seek medical attention, her mouth had felt uncomfortably dry before she'd gagged and vomited from dread.

“Mari—”

She'd grown cold, trying not to draw attention to herself as she walked the streets, and in doing so, she'd pushed away the people in her life—and whether it was for their safety or her own, she didn't know. Chloé had been a constant, never leaving her side even when Marinette slammed the door in a fit of anger. Whenever she opened it later to see Chloé silently sitting there later on, tears welled in her eyes when she realised what she'd done.

Chloé had been with her for over a decade. She'd been the one to help her with her homework, no matter how well she actually knew the subject, spied on others to get the right answers on her tests, and warned her if there were ghosts outside of the room she was in when she wandered.

Although she couldn't remember her life, Chloé still knew things, enough so that when Marinette got over her fear of an underwear-clad teenager following her around, she directed all of her questions at her, finding it easier to connect with Chloé than the caretakers or class-mates that whispered about her behind her back.

“You're fine,” Chloé whispered, kneeling down in front of her. “There's no one here.”

When—when had she fallen down? Marinette blinked, a bit dazed as she stood up on wobbly legs, noticing that she'd paused on the path abruptly.

Her knees were grazed.

Chloé's voice was soft as she whispered, “I—you don't need to stay here for me, you know that, right?”

She didn't mean in the city.

When Marinette ran a hand over her face to brush the hair away, her skin felt cold. “Yeah,” she lied. “I know.”

Her single friend could only touch her if she conversed energy for it, while Marinette could never return the gesture. The feeling of her cold face paled in comparison to the sensation of walking through a ghost, but she imagined it would've been much worse to be alone.

Her mouth was dry.

“Let's go home and watch something,” Chloé announced, the fake enthusiasm very much appreciated. “I'll even let you light some candles to play with.”

The smile that appeared didn't seem so forced. “That does sound like fun.”

“As long as you don't burn anything this time.”

-x-

The few times that Chloé managed to save enough energy to eat was always fascinating. Marinette had questioned where the food went for years, how it even worked at all, and was even baffled that there was no need to use the toilet after. It took concentration from Chloé's part, and they'd experimented in the past to see whether she could eat if Marinette held a spoonful of food up towards her, but it proved to be too difficult.

The limitations of being a ghost weren't exactly clear. Chloé's hair didn't grow or become greasy, her body didn't produce sweat, and running didn't make her become winded. Instead, it was interacting with physical things that made her feel tired, but she couldn't sleep—which led to Marinette leaving the television on to keep her entertained.

Chloé preferred to stick with her rather than looking for anyone else. Watching people wasn't something she found fun, and she grew frustrated quickly when doors closed prematurely before she could get in, resulting in her having to wait until someone else walked past. When ghosts were portrayed in media of being able to phase through walls, Chloé seemed to grow personally offended by it, demanding that Marinette turn it off while she sulked.

After a few days of lazing around, idly flipping through channels and chatting with Chloé before she napped in the sun again, Marinette managed to find the enthusiasm to arrange to meet another client.

Any determination she had almost fizzled out when she put her foot through the rip of her jeans while trying to put them on.

Chloé refused to stay on the road to act as a look out that time, crossing her arms stubbornly as she walked along side.

Marinette didn't have the energy to fight. “Fine,” she said with a sigh, fishing out her phone to see whether she'd received another message.

It was the parking lot of a takeaway place that time. To her surprise, they came out through the backdoor, greeting her in the uniform from the place as they approached.

“Thanks,” she murmured as she accepted the money, putting it into her back pocket. It was easy to make eye contact, the stranger not shying away from her glance as some had in the past. “You loved this, it was the purest one you've ever had. You'll only recommend it to your friends in two days, when you've finished it all.”

She patted their slack shoulder on her way past.

After a few steps, Chloé quipped, “I'll never get over how cool that is.”

“Right,” she muttered. “Cool.”

“No need to get all broody,” Chloé replied, rolling her blue-coloured eyes that were a few shades lighter than her own. “I just feel all proud when you use it to your advantage.”

She snorted. “It's literally turning people into my minions.”

“For a limited amount of time,” Chloé pointed out. “I'd kill to have that but, sadly, I'm stuck in my fucking underwear for the foreseeable future.”

Marinette squinted up at the blazing sun, contemplating whether to arrange another deal or trudge home to lounge around. “The offer to see a priest about an exorcism is still up for grabs.”

Chloé's laugh was honest. “And leave you without your mother? Never.”

“You're sixteen,” she said bluntly. “There's no way you'd ever be anyone's mother; you love yourself too much.”

“But how long have I been sixteen?” Chloé shot back, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder dramatically. “And I quite like you, I wouldn't mind being your sister.”

She made a noise of amusement. “You were definitely an only child.”

In the past, they'd searched to try and find information about Chloé's previous life, but they weren't even sure that that was her name, or whether she'd liked the sound of it when she'd become aware. No amount of investigating had cleared that up, and while that had been Chloé's initial reason for befriending her, they were still together years later.

“I've got all the family I need here.”

Marinette blinked rapidly. “Gross.”

Chloé agreed, “I feel nauseated from just saying that.”

While Chloé was friendly, Marinette's attempts to be nice to other ghosts hadn't gone so well in the past. The screeching and sound of them clawing on the doors—using their remaining energy to be an annoyance—haunted her sometimes, but when she went outside with Chloé nearby, the spirits tended to spread out, not approaching each other.

Unfortunately, she had yet to find out why. Chloé didn't know either, and said she didn't like befriending the dead since they were too fickle for her tastes.

Marinette was also cautious about approaching someone first when they were by themselves, as she wasn't able to tell if they were living or not. Ghosts, physically, looked as anyone else did—if the clothing choices were ignored—and she was grateful for that at times, since she imagined if she'd seen a decapitated corpse walking around when she was a child, she would've been further scarred.

The second deal was just as mundane as the first that day, but it was with one of her regulars. They'd started to get familiar with her, almost greeting her with a hug before she looked them in the eyes and said, “Don't touch me.”

There wasn't a limit to the amount of times she could use it on one person, but it was draining for her if it continued. Marinette pocketed her money and swiftly left, Chloé trailing along beside her.

“Mari,” she called, and Marinette looked at her briefly before turning her head back to look at the path they walked along. “You know you wouldn't be any happier in actual employment.”

There was no denying that. “Yeah.”

“You could be a complete dick and fuck up the city, but you're not.”

She snorted. “That's because I have limitations. I can't even get someone to harm a fly.”

“But you _can_ influence their actions,” Chloé pointed out. “Like making people kiss—remember when you did that to that annoying girl in school?”

Her lips tugged down into a frown. “I made her sexually assault someone.”

“First of all, she was ten,” Chloé said with a scoff. “And it was another kid that pushed you over. You don't have to feel bad about that.”

“Just because you don't have a conscience doesn't mean that we share the same morals,” Marinette interjected, typing away on her phone when it started to vibrate again. It was one that she'd acquired just for the job, her personal phone barely receiving any messages. “This—someone's asking for a really large amount.”

Chloé didn't waste any time to ask, “How much money?”

“Enough one month's rent.”

Regardless of the fact that it wasn't a regular, Marinette went. They were the one to decide the destination; further within the city, nearby a popular pub. Marinette paid for her bus fare without complaining, taking the aisle seat after Chloé had settled down by the window, purposely putting earphones in her ears to ignore anyone that asked to sit beside her.

Being rude was an art, apparently.

As a child, it had frightened her when all she had to do was look into someone's eyes and imagine them doing what she'd said. It was hard to get a hold of, and she ended up staring at the floor more often than not, not looking into people's eyes when they were talking to her, and it resulted in school's being concerned about her in the beginning.

They had every right to be concerned, really. A little girl with the power to control her peers resulted in a lot of awkward moments, and Marinette sobbing from accidentally commanding someone, but Chloé had been there to try and calm her down. The times when Chloé had crouched in front of her, using her energy to pat her head gently as she counted down the numbers were almost fond memories.

The client she met was _awful_.

Marinette's anger flared as she accepted the money, spitefully staring at the cigarette that was held to their lips, causing the flame to grow and startle them enough to yelp and drop it to the floor from fear of being burnt.

It turned to ash.

“Tell your friends, but never contact me again,” Marinette said when they looked up, facial features going slack, a stark difference to the bewilderment that had been there previously. “Say the high was too much for you to handle—only buy in small quantities from now on, and never from the same person twice.”

Chloé laughed in amusement when they walked away. “You're pretty vindictive today.”

“They almost got spit on my _shoes_.”

Chloé put her hands up in the general sign of surrender, humouring her. “I'm just saying, you're not usually so free with using fire.”

She scrunched her face in an expression of distaste. “Asshole deserved it.”

The last bus of her route had already left. Marinette made a noise of frustration as she began her trudge back to the other side of the city, knowing it might take up to an hour, but she didn't want to deal with hailing a taxi. With her hands in the pockets of her jeans, she regretted not wearing a jacket, the coldness that appeared in the evening started to creep up without any warning, meaning that summer was starting to come to an end.

“We never went to the beach,” Chloé mused as they passed some clothing stores that had swimsuits in the displays.

She snorted. “It's not like you save up enough energy to feel the water.”

“I'd feel like I belong in this attire, at least.” Chloé sniffed. “And don't pretend you don't enjoy going to sleep on a towel.”

“Fine,” she caved easily. “We'll go soon if it's still warm, okay?”

Chloé's grin showed her white teeth that had possibly had braces on in the past. “You're a real pushover, aren't you?”

Instead of replying, Marinette shrugged. They both knew that she gave in easily to anything that Chloé wanted, and had almost been frantic in trying to please her when she'd been younger and struggling with her lack of friends.

While she'd never grow as tall as Chloé—Marinette came up to her chin—she felt bad that she was able to experience everything that she couldn't. So, she gave in at times when Chloé pointed out which clothes she'd wished to wear, ordering food that didn't sound so enticing because Chloé wanted to try it, and went out of her way to talk when they were in public.

It helped that she'd invested in an earpiece that she'd wear in her ear, pretending to be talking to someone, but over time Marinette forgot about the device and just dealt with the strange looks that she got on the street.

Turning down an alley that she knew to be a shortcut, Marinette was momentarily bewildered by the sight of a hole in the ground, large and looking deep enough that it would go just above her ankles. But it was the fact that there was a struggling figure there that caught her attention, their frantic flailing keeping her staring as they tried to get away from the other person that was at the scene.

Somehow, she'd managed to stumble in on a fight, it seemed. The one with the hoodie on—the fabric pulled over and obstructing her view of their hair or face—was tightly holding onto the shoulders of the one who's feet were within the unnatural hole, keeping them there while they were pushed against the wall, almost falling over in the process.

“We could always just turn around,” Chloé suggested, sounding bored.

Marinette's jaw clenched as she heard the muffled pleas from further down.

It wasn't in her nature to be confrontational. She treated most situations with indifference, saving her enthusiasm for when she was alone with Chloé, so her footsteps weren't quick when she approached the struggling duo.

It became clear that they were both men. The one being assaulted had his face scrunched up, panic clear on their expression, but Marinette ignored that as she stood beside them and cleared her throat.

A swear escaped the attacker, the taller of the two, and he turned to face her with a fierce expression. “ _Leave_.”

When he started to turn his head back, Marinette reached out to clasp onto his shoulder. “No,” she said with a sigh. “You should fuck off and and forget this ever happened.”

They just stared at each other.

For a moment, Marinette wondered whether someone was able to resist her, as there was no slackening of his expression, body language stiff and aggressive, but that melted in a matter of seconds as his green-coloured eyes widened as he continued to look at her with an unknown emotion.

Lips parting, the words that left him weren't insightful, but they were short. “You—”

His grip had grow slack, meaning the other person was able to push him away and dart down the alleyway, out into the street without looking back once.

Marinette just stared in confusion. There was awareness on his face, and as he turned his head to see the fleeing figure, he let out a sigh before facing her again, expression unreadable.

“Why would you do that?” he demanded.

Well, that just about squashed her curiosity. She didn't have the energy to deal with anyone persistent, let alone someone that was able to shrug off her ability. It had always worked as long as she willed it while looking in someone's eyes—and yet, that wasn't the case that day.

“Leave me alone,” she said flatly, trying again.

His eyebrows furrowed, and as he reached up to push the hood down and reveal the blond hair that was underneath, she stood an instinctive step backwards. He—it shouldn't have been possible, and she could feel her hands growing clammy from the insinuations. If she was losing her power, if it was decreasing, then the lifestyle she was living would be rendered useless. She wouldn't be able to con anyone, nor get them to leave her alone if she caused trouble—

The thought of the heat spiralling out of control, with everyone watching, had her stumbling back further, trying to get as far away from the possibility as she could. She could hear muffled noises, but the sounds weren't recognisable, everything loud as her breaths came fast, and the black spots dancing across her vision were getting larger and larger, taking up all of her attention as her heart beat painfully in her chest.

She became aware of pain on her palms.

Blearily, she opened her eyes to see little pebbles digging into her flesh, beads of blood appearing, mocking her against the paleness of her skin, and she stared as the dizziness started to fade.

There was someone standing in front of her, and the familiar sight of bare legs filled her with comfort. Marinette shifted her weight, standing up on wobbly feet as she realised that Chloé was blocking her from view, the aggressive stance easy to spot.

“If you'll stop acting like a guard dog for one minute, you'd notice that she's recovered now,” the male said, and with a start, she realised that he was even taller than Chloé. “I'm not going to hurt her.”

Her throat felt tight.

He—he could _see_ Chloé, and even converse with her. No one had been able to before, not even the hacks that claimed that they could contact spirits and talk to the dead, and he didn't look remotely freaked out. There wasn't the wariness that she had whenever a strange ghost approached her, but, maybe, they hadn't had the same experiences in the past.

“What—who are you?” Marinette croaked, wincing at the sound of her voice.

As Chloé hadn't moved from in front of her, he stood a step to the side so he was visible, a curious look on his face. “Adrien,” he introduced himself, offering a genuine smile that showed indents on his cheeks, and it was so out of place that she took another step backwards. “I'm the same as you.”

Chloé crossed her arms. “I doubt that.”

Her eyes flickered to where the ground and crumpled, the small crater still there.

“I—I heard stories, but I never thought I'd meet someone else, you know?” he babbled, a hand moving to emphasise his words, ignoring Chloé and focusing only on her. And the fact that he seemed so relaxed, as though nothing had happened, and was bewildering. “It's just... I'm so glad to meet you, really. Even if you did let them get away.”

_Stories?_

She'd tried to look on the internet for anything to do with her abilities, but they were always involved in fiction, never substantial or close to describing her capabilities. Marinette had always wondered whether she'd had them all along, or if they'd developed somewhere along the line, but no one had any answers for her—she only had Chloé beside her, trying her best to calm Marinette down whenever she panicked.

Slowly, Marinette wiped the cold sweat off of her face with the back of her hand. “You...” she started, trailing off as she found herself stuck for words. He—he wasn't a friendly figure, no matter how different his face seemed to be at that moment, and she could still remember the way he'd held that person unnaturally against the wall.

“Are you okay?” Adrien questioned, taking a step forward.

Chloé moved to stand in front of her again, and Marinette watched as her friend used her abysmal amount of energy to reach out and shove at his shoulders.

It didn't make him stumble, but he did stop, turning to look at Chloé with confusion, acknowledging her at last since Marinette had become coherent again.

Her chest burned from Chloé's protectiveness.

“You can see her,” she said cautiously, stating the facts. “And—and you're immune to me.”

He raised his eyebrows at that. “Well, yes. We wouldn't be able to do our jobs if we could influence each other.”

There was a clear lack of information on her part. “What?” came out before she could stop herself, sounding so confused and not at all as indifferent as she wanted to be.

It was his turn to look at her in surprise. “You—you don't _know_?”

“All I know is that you were assaulting someone before I stopped you,” Marinette said honestly, relieved that Chloé was just staring at him warily, rather than interrupting with her temper. She imagined that the situation was just as bewildering for her.

Adrien let out an audible breath. “Someone—you thought I was attacking _someone_?”

Her eyes flickered back to the unnatural hole. “Do you have another explanation?”

His lips parted silently, no sound coming out as he struggled for words, before settling with asking quietly, “What did your family teach you?”

Flashes of fire flickered in her mind, a shiver of dread running through her body, and the thought of them knowing and leaving her with nothing—no relatives, no belongings, no one to comfort her when the voices were so so _loud_ —was loud and insistent. “Nothing,” she answered bluntly, voice devoid of emotion. “I'm an orphan.”

“You—” Adrien started, cutting himself off as his eyes flickered over to Chloé. “You're alone?”

Chloé made an offended noise. “Fuck off.”

It was getting hard to breathe.

There was finally someone else that could answer her questions, someone that had been through the same experiences as her, but that made her feel more afraid than it should've. She should've been relieved, happy to find someone else—but it had been _years_. Fantasies of finding someone else had faded in her teens, and yet, she was twenty-one and utterly unhappy with everything in her life, apart from Chloé.

“I'm not alone,” she announced, anger seeping into her voice, “and you can _see_ that.”

He ran a hand through his hair, that was to the length of touching the top of his ears, looking visibly frustrated. “You're willingly with one of them.”

“ _Them_?” Chloé parroted, offended.

Her heart was beating fast, but she wasn't sure whether it was from anger or the dread of facing the unknown.

“You don't get to talk about her like she's trash,” Marinette said, furious from how disrespectful he'd been. He was the _first_ to see Chloé, and to have him barely paying attention to her and making such a comment hit a nerve—

“Fuck, you really don't know anything, do you?”

She hands curled into fists. “And why should I trust you at all?”

“Because I'm probably the only other person like yourself that you'll ever meet!” Adrien hastily explained, holding his hands up in a form of surrender as he took a step backwards, clearly noticing how aggressive she'd become. “If your family couldn't teach you, then you need someone, right?”

Her lips curled down into a frown. “I saw you assaulting someone.”

“It wasn't a someone, damn it,” he said, hands dropping down to his side as his shoulders grew less tense. “Humour me here, how many ghosts do you see on a daily basis?”

As much as she wanted to compose herself, she blurted out, “So—they really are ghosts?”

“What else would I be?” Chloé spoke up from beside them, sounding exasperated. “Come on, we researched this—”

Adrien didn't spare her any mind. “In a way,” he confirmed. “There's a lot of names, but none of them are really right? They're definitely dead, and that's the important part.”

The phone in her pocket was vibrating madly, but Marinette ignored it and continued to observed Adrien warily. “I don't trust you,” she said bluntly.

“Look.” He sighed. “You've seen ghosts attack people, haven't you?”

“Yes.” She'd seen Chloé attack her more times than necessary over the years, but there had never been any side-effects involved with it.

His eyes flickered to Chloé once more—who was standing there, as always in her underwear, with her arms crossed and her chin raised haughtily—before he asked, “And are you aware that we can hurt them?”

“I—” Marinette stuttered, staring him as though he was mad. _Hurt_? Marinette had never been able to touch Chloé by herself; sometimes, Chloé used her energy to touch her, but it had never been the other way around, no matter how they wished for it to be. “What?”

“That's...” Adrien trailed off, looking a bit pained. “That's how we get rid of them.”

The breath left her lungs.

“No,” she said shakily, eyes darting in horror between him and her only friend—the only person to be beside her through all the downfalls of her life—and she could feel her face growing cold as her heartbeat increased.

Stumbling a bit, Marinette tried to stand between the two of them, but noises were becoming muffled, barely able to be made out as her breaths came fast, and she became aware of that fact that she was panicking too much. Marinette tried to steady herself, but she swayed, vision becoming hazy as black spots danced across her vision, and she was unsure of whether she'd closed her eyes or not.

When she started to calm down, she was on the floor, Chloé beside her and whispering grounding words to get her to realise where she was.

Her palms were stinging again.

She'd scratched the cuts that she'd acquired earlier that day, and as she lazily wiped one hand on her shirt before bringing it to her face to push away her hair—that felt suffocating—she jumped when Adrien came into her vision, kneeling down in front of her with a concerned expression.

She backed away, wincing at the sudden movement.

“Easy,” he cautioned. “I'm not going to touch you, if that's what you're worried about.”

She stared at him with distrust, swallowing instead of answering.

“You—you're aware that you have an element, aren't you?” Adrien asked quietly, gesturing behind him to the hole that was left in the floor. Then, when she nodded, not trusting herself to use her words, he purposely started to walk backwards, a metre or two while watching her to see if she'd bolt, before he stood beside it.

When his hand touched the floor, she watched while taking painful breaths as the ground that was displaced—the cracked stones, the large ones and the tiny bits that had fallen off—moved, smoothing out the surface until it was somewhat level, cracks evident from where the stone had been displaced. It wasn't a hole any more, but something had definitely happened there.

But all she could think about was that he'd implied that his job was to hurt ghosts— _Chloé—_

She didn't hesitate to run.

Chloé was sprinting beside her silently, not winded or suffering from the same uncomfortable feelings of her body as she was, but Marinette was terrified as she ran through the streets. She heard a call of him asking her to wait, shouting after and trying to follow, and she didn't hesitate to stop the first person on the street and demand for them to stall Adrien and keep their eyes closed for the entire time they had their hands on him, keeping him from following as he struggled.

When she'd ran out of breath, nowhere near her apartment with her clothes sticking to her body, she promptly doubled over and threw up on the pavement.

Chloé sat down beside her the whole time.

-x-

The knowledge that Adrien didn't know her name, nor Chloé's, should've been reassuring, but it wasn't.

Marinette had refused to leave her apartment the next day, and Chloé made no protests to that. The cell phone she had for work was turned off for the first time in months (the other had been when she was ill), and she'd felt too nauseated to eat any food until her stomach protested loudly.

She'd always wondered about the strangeness that was her powers, truly, but to learn that they were intertwined, that the consuming burn and her vision were one, and that they were there for a purpose, had her throwing up until there wasn't anything left but bile to come up.

 _Them_ —he'd referred to Chloé as one of them. When they were calm, which was a feat in itself, they theorised about what it could mean, but the conclusion they'd come to wasn't one they were looking forward to.

“I will not,” she rejected harshly when Chloé said that all they could do was try and use her element. “I—I _can't_.”

The sofa didn't shift as Chloé moved closer to her. “Think about it, Mari,” Chloé said softly, the nickname one that was supposed to relax her. “When have you seen another ghost that's as docile as me?”

Docile wasn't a word she'd ever use to describe her friend, but there was no denying her words. Chloé didn't scream, demand, or cause problems with the limited energy that she had.

“I'm never using it on you,” she replied, closing her eyes as she put her face in her hands, breathing harshly. “And if—if he ever tries to hurt you, I won't let him.”

“You can't control him, remember?”

She mouth felt dry. “I'll deal with him the normal way, then.”

“You can barely get out of bed in the mornings,” Chloé pointed out, a bit of humour in her voice. “How are you expecting to be able to fight a man when you only come up to his chest?”

She opened her eyes just to glare at her friends. “I'm well aware that I can just kick him between the legs.”

“You're such a good fighter,” Chloé cooed, reaching out to touch Marinette's keep, but it went through her skin, and Marinette shivered from the chill that ran through her body. Chloé pulled her hand away immediately, whispering quietly, “I thought I'd at least have the energy to do that.”

She was being irrational, she knew, but she didn't want Chloé anywhere near the male that she'd met. Whether it was because she was too protective or scared of the unknown, she wasn't sure, but she knew that running away had been an entirely emotional response.

She swallowed audibly. “Do you... do you think he knows more about your energy?”

“He probably knows a lot of things other than having some tact,” Chloé muttered. “Does it really matter?”

It was her stubbornness talking, she knew. Marinette had grown up notoriously stubborn, using her power of persuasion on anyone that tried to get her to do anything against her wishes, but it paled in comparison to Chloé's personality. If Chloé been able to grow up, to not die and have lived a normal life, Marinette always wondered whether she'd grow up out of her pigheadedness.

Her eyes flickered to the unlit candles. “He looked like he was in control of his element.”

Chloé snorted. “He probably had his parents coddling him, fucking forget it.”

“I... I don't remember them,” Marinette said, leaning back against the sofa and staring up at the ceiling. After so many years, the emotions had ran dry, and she'd been physically too young to remember anything about them before they'd died. “I don't know if they were like me.”

“Bitch, same!” Chloé exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation. “We moved on past our parental issues over a decade ago, Marinette!”

She let out a laugh. “I'm not moping, I'm just... I'm curious, you know?”

“Whether they cornered ghosts in alleyways and slaughtered them?” Chloé supplied sarcastically. “I'm sure that's probably why they died, then. Must've pissed off the wrong ghost and suffered because of it.”

“That—” Marinette paused, furrowing her brow. “That would make sense, wouldn't it?”

Chloé hummed. “I'm not just a pretty face.”

“You're a teenager girl that's stuck partially undressed forever,” she pointed out in amusement. “But, sometimes, I really do think you're a genius.”

“Of course.” Chloé sniffed dramatically. “You wouldn't be here without me.”

In many ways, there was no denying that. “Do you want a gold star?”

The days passed, and she grew gradually less guarded. Her work phone was turned back on, and after a week, she summoned the will to get out of bed and meet two clients. Then, the weeks started to pass, and, sometimes, when she was feeling daring, she lit a candle while they were on the sofa, but she always made sure that she wasn't exhausted when she did so.

Touching fire had always made her panicked. The flame flickered and curled around her fingers, a welcoming warmth that didn't burn her skin, though it would attack her clothing within reach, and when she'd learned that she could transfer and hold a flame in her hand without breaking down, she'd been eighteen.

Although it was supposed to be natural to her, she assumed, she was always fearful of the results. Flashes of fire, bitter memories, and all-consuming smoke that billowed dangerously, sneaking into her lungs and causing her to wheeze—

She breathed out slowly.

It wobbled within her hand, responding to her emotions, and if that wasn't bad enough, it was the pressure of everything that could go wrong that had her breaths coming out harshly. There—there was so much she was afraid of, the worries coming back with a vengeance whenever she looked at the stove and contemplated cooking, but she didn't want that responsibility.

“Okay, we're done here,” Chloé announced suddenly, hitting her hands to make a single clap that startled Marinette enough that the flame flared, becoming bigger from her surprise. “I want to eat.”

Marinette let out a laugh, the tension leaving her in moments from her friend's comment, and copied her to clap, the flame disappeared in the blink of an eye. “Are you sure you're able to?”

“If I can't, it's more for you to eat,” Chloé replied instantly, jumping up onto her feet before turning her body to look towards her, chin raised. “You are looking a bit skinny.”

She couldn't hold back her grin. “Thanks for noticing, mother.”

Chloé haughtily said, “I died in prime condition, you need to try and match me.”

As Chloé wanted to eat, she always insisted on choosing what their dinner was, and that evening it resulted in Marinette slipping on her shoes and walking ten minutes to collect the bag filled with fragrant food. Chloé was chattering away as they walked, blabbering about anything that came to mind, and Marinette's cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling.

It was a good night.

With that thought in mind, she ducked into a supermarket quickly—leaving Chloé to stand outside since it was too crowded, and people walking through her was uncomfortable—and went to the drinks section, picking out something nice.

She wandered through the aisles, approaching the shortest line at the tills when it all turned around. Marinette had just put the bottle down, waiting in the queue, when the person behind her brushed her shoulder to reach for a divider, mumbling a soft apology as they did so.

She didn't think anything of it, not really. It happened all the time, and it was such a mundane thing that she didn't react to it. When it was her turn, she shuffled forward, looking into the cashier's eyes but not replying at all when she was addressed, paying without any commotion.

It was when she'd stopped before the exit, putting down her bag to adjust her grip that a tap came to her shoulder.

Startled, Marinette turned around, only to be met with a face that she'd been gradually trying to forget.

“No tag-along this time?” Adrien said as a greeting, looking entirely too friendly as he offered her a polite smile.

Rather than replying, she hastily picked up her belongings and started to walk away when she was stopped by him grabbing on her wrist.

The move infuriated her.

“Don't touch me,” she spat, pulling her arm away and causing the bottle to slip from her grip onto the floor.

It was lucky that it was made out of plastic.

“Sorry,” he offered, but it didn't sound sincere as he put one hand in his pocket, the other curled around a plastic bag. “You—will you please give me the chance to explain?”

“ _Explain_?” Marinette exclaimed, entirely too loud for the public setting they were in. “How about you go back to killing people?”

He let out a frustrated noise as he looked around them. “Keep it down, will you?” Adrien requested quietly. “You know how exhausting it is to get dozens of people to leave us alone.”

Marinette took a step to the side, allowing customers to leave without asking her to move. “What do you want?” she asked bluntly, staring up at him in what she hoped to be a closed off expression.

“A chance,” he repeated, and it sounded almost genuine. “We're supposed to stick together.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I thought you'd only heard stories of others.”

“Yes,” he confirmed, lips tugging into a smile. “But that doesn't mean we can't work together now that we know of each other's existence.”

“Why would I work with you?” she queried, tilting her head, causing some of her bangs to fall into her eyes. “I have a job—I'm happy with my life.”

It didn't need to be said that the last comment was a lie, and it certainly sounded like one to the both of them.

Adrien let out a sigh. “There's so much you don't know, and I... I'm the only one that can teach you. You have to know that already.”

“All I know is that you're a potential threat to my best friend,” she retorted. “And I have no reason to trust you whatsoever. So what if you know more than me? You're _not_ entitled to be my teacher because of that.”

“Where is all this aggression coming from?” he exclaimed, running a hand through his blond hair. “I just—I'm _trying_ to be your friend!”

It was bewildering, but she was stubbornly holding onto her anger. The thought of facing the unknown was one that she didn't want to confront, not when she'd been in the dark for so long, unknowing of the reason behind it all. She'd accepted her fate of avoiding friends that would only be influenced in her weak moments, the worry of choosing her words correctly one that weighed on her heavily.

But he was someone that was immune to it, and he'd happened to have made a terrible first impression.

“Tell me why you were fighting someone before,” Marinette demanded, “and then I'll think about it.”

He grimaced. “It's... not really something I can explain in public.”

There was silence as they stared at each other, trying to come to a solution.

Marinette was the one to break it by bluntly saying, “I'm not showing you where I live.”

“Can you meet me soon, then?” Adrien suggested, gesturing towards her shopping. “I'll promise not to harm your friend if you come with an open mind.”

When she walked out of the store with a dented bottle cradled to her chest and an angry expression, Chloé didn't pester her to find out what happened.

-x-

It didn't come as a surprise that Marinette stood him up.

She'd considered it for a little bit, until Chloé had chimed in and asked whether she really wanted to be involved with his business. As much as she wanted to know what was happening, trying to be roped into what he'd been doing the first time they'd met wasn't on her agenda.

So, she just didn't turn up. Marinette avoided the supermarket that she'd bumped into him before, and went about her life normally. She met her regulars and sometimes shady clients—one almost punched her in the face while saying that she was charging too much—napped as often as she liked, and went to the cinema with Chloé and made sure to buy two seats so no one could sit there.

It earned her a few weird looks, especially when all the other seats had filled out, and refused to even put her belongings on the chair, but she'd learned to ignore them after the years (nothing was worse than the playground chatter about her weirdness, after all).

She should've expected that they'd bump into each other, really.

Alix, the youngest sibling of the family Marinette had lived with for four years, had always tried to be her friend. Whether it was because they'd been in the same classes growing up, or because Marinette was as aloof as Alix wanted to be with those that annoyed her—she'd even asked Marinette how she was able to be so flippant to everyone when they were fifteen—she didn't know, but it meant that one of the only numbers on her personal phone was hers.

It wasn't a good idea, but Chloé had always found it amusing how Alix tried to reach out to her, so it was because of her that Marinette found herself uncomfortably knocking on a front door.

The loud music drowned out the noise she'd made anyway.

Running a hand through her hair, Marinette shot Chloé an accusatory look.

Although Alix messaged her regularly, Marinette only replied every few months, reluctant to try and be her friend. Back when they'd been teenagers, she'd tried, but she'd been horrified and absolutely distraught when she'd accidentally forced Alix to do anything, let alone when she managed to do it to the older siblings or even Alix's parents.

It was probably worse because even though the parents had looked out for her, Alix hadn't minded that there was anything weird about her; if anything, it was the way she shied away from attention and crowds that had intrigued her at first, and that had led to Alix knocking loudly on her bedroom door and demanding entrance so they could do homework together (a demand that Marinette ignored most of the time, hiding underneath her duvet instead).

Sometimes, that led to Alix trying to climb through her window, using the tree house that her older siblings had built for her as leverage.

After a quick message, the front door opened to reveal a female that was a centimetre or two taller than her—a bragging point that hadn't been there for years, as Alix had always been notoriously small—with short hair that had been obviously dyed.

“Your hair's pink,” Marinette greeted her dumbly, a bit surprised.

Alix grinned, showing her white teeth as she leaned against the doorway. “Great, isn't it? Parents just about shit a brick when I turned up to lunch with it last week.”

She could vividly imagine their horror. “I didn't know you were having a party.”

“That's because you wouldn't have turned up if I told you,” Alix said, rolling her blue-coloured eyes. “You definitely have to meet my friends, they've heard all about you.”

“Alix—” Marinette started, but Alix had already reached out and grasped onto her wrist, tugging her inside—the slammed door narrowly missing Chloé and allowing her to get in—and weaving throughout the apartment with ease. “I thought we were having dinner!”

Alix didn't turn around as she replied, “There's food here, it counts!”

It was easy to understand why they weren't able to get along sometimes; whether it was because Alix was sociable to those that she liked, which was rare enough as it was in the past, or because she was someone that was wasn't able to be told no and understand it most of the time, it wasn't clear. All Marinette knew that when she stumbled to a stop in front of a small group that were occupying the couches, was that she didn't want to be there at all.

The amount of people there was small, but it wasn't small enough. She could hear Chloé cackling from amusement behind her—enjoying her awkwardness—and she just about wanted to turn around and leave when Alix dramatically announced Marinette's presence with her hands waving in her direction.

It was a lot more enthusiasm than she encountered in the past few months.

“Your sister?” one asked for confirmation.

Alix didn't hesitate to say yes, and that made a feeling of guilt curl in her stomach.

They weren't close, not enough to even be considered friends, but Alix had always insisted that they could be friends if they wanted to be. At first, Marinette had thought it was to embarrass her, and then out of pity, but whatever the reason was, it wasn't one that made her feel good about herself. Marinette had tried to raise herself not to look into people's eyes when she was looking at them, and whenever she met up with Alix, it always left her with negative feelings afterwards.

It helped that they only saw each other every few months because of Chloé's prompting. While she may not have thought of them as family, Alix sure did, more than any of the others.

Awkwardly, she raised a hand to wave, trying to think of a way to leave before Alix placed a hand on her shoulder and made her sit down. Thankfully, Alix chose to sit down beside her instead of making her be beside a stranger.

She'd barely had time to adjust her jeans to be comfortable when she heard, “Marinette, I had no idea you know Alix.”

Chloé's laughter stopped.

Of all of Alix's friends, only one of them was familiar to her, and when she saw him wedged between others, obviously comfortable with a drink in hand, she felt her stomach twist in discomfort further.

“You know each other?” Alix questioned, looking between them curiously.

Adrien's grin only grew. “Yeah, we—”

“We've met,” Marinette interrupted curtly, shooting him a cold look. “Not well enough for him to know my name before tonight, however.”

Conversation ensued after that, and as hard as Alix tried to include her, Marinette stayed there awkwardly, pulling out her phone and typing out messages that she couldn't send, knowing Chloé would read them over her shoulder and reply aloud instead.

Chloé's most repeated answer for the half an hour that they'd been sat in Alix's living room was that she should attack Adrien.

It made her laugh.

The most surreal thing was to see that Adrien was visibly comfortable and friendly with everyone there (other than her). It wasn't clear that he was careful with his words at all, and at some points, their eyes should've glazed over and postures gone slack—but it didn't happen.

And that infuriating feeling of her being inferior flared up again.

She needed to stomp on her insecurities and act like an adult instead of running away; to get over the guilt and negative feelings that appeared, rather than wallowing in self-pity and the constant depression that bothered. Marinette set down the drink that she hadn't taken a sip out of once, awkwardly tapping Alix's shoulder to to say that she had to leave.

Alix didn't stop her, and the parting smile she received was one tinged with disappointment (inspiringly). Alix's friends all shouted out their good-byes, too, referring to her as Alix's sister rather than her actual name, but she wasn't bothered by that. It was unlikely that she'd meet them again; after all, she hadn't been a constant presence in Alix's life since she was a reluctant minor.

It didn't take much to convince Chloé to relay her message when they parted at the front door, to tell Adrien to meet her outside. It took him thirty minutes to arrive with Chloé beside him, who was sending him such a nasty look that completely contrasted the bright smile that he had.

“So,” he started when he stood beside her, casually resting against the wall with his hands in his pockets. “Marinette Kubdel.”

“No,” she said flatly. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

He blinked. “Adopted?”

“I've already told you that I'm an orphan,” she reminded him with a sigh. “But... how do you—”

“Now isn't the time to fucking stutter, Marinette,” Chloé complained, crossing her arms in an attempt to look intimidating, but Adrien towered over her, and her pyjamas ruined any mean effect that she was trying to have. When Chloé's gaze turned to him, she said, “Just tell her what you told me when we were walking down.”

She hadn't thought they'd had enough time to have a conversation at all.

Adrien just raised his eyebrows. “She's quite a feisty one, isn't she?”

“Chloé's Chloé,” Marinette responded lamely. “What were you talking about?”

When it became clear that he was thinking about his words—parting his lips before pursing them again, looking contemplative—Chloé exclaimed, “You're both as hopeless as each other!”

Well, it didn't sound like it was anything negative if Chloé wasn't shouting curse words at the top of her lungs. “You two seem... friendly.”

“Friendly isn't exactly the word I'd use,” Adrien replied, amused. “She threatened to murder me after conversing up enough energy to set gas alight in my home.”

That definitely sounded about right, and the smug way Chloé tossed her hair over her shoulder confirmed it. “You took that well,” Marinette said cautiously.

“I happened to remind her that my goal here isn't to kill her—which you'd know if you actually listened to me, you know,” he explained, shrugging his shoulders lightly. “Now, after you pulled the disappearing act again, I took the liberty of making you a care package that contains basically everything you need to know.”

Her eyes trailed over his form slowly. “Great?”

“And as you can see, it's not on me.” He grinned. “So, fancy coming to my house to pick it up? That way, you also know where I live if you ever need to contact me—since you were so reluctant to share your number the last time.”

There was something just so friendly about him that caused her to feel on edge. While she'd had problems her whole life, ranging from dealing with strangers to those that wanted to be her friends—accidentally ruining it all with the wrong choice of words—he seemed to have everything set out for him. From being so comfortable with friends, walking around without worries and no tension in his shoulders as he stood beside her.

It was as though he didn't see her as a threat.

And he shouldn't, not really. Marinette didn't _attack_ people—not on purpose, at least.

To her horror, Chloé was the one that responded to his casual conversation as they walked, while she felt like the odd one out, eyes wide as she slowly watched as her friend opened up to him, talking about anything and everything that they could think of. They ended up talking about a television show that they were both fans of, passionately comparing the flaws of the characters.

To her, someone that had never seen Chloé talk to anyone else, let alone someone with as much enthusiasm as that moment, it made her feel sick. It was jealousy, for sure, but to see her friend's suspicion melt away just from mentioning a damn show that Marinette couldn't force herself to watch—because she wasn't fond of the actors or the plot—made it even worse.

Adrien invited them inside his home without any hesitation, and her stomach twisted at the sight of pictures of him and two others on the walls, the belongings strewn across the living room, and the various pairs of shoes that couldn't belong to him.

“I live with two friends, but they're still at Alix's,” he offered as an explanation when he caught her staring. “I must admit, it's quite a surprise to find out that you're the elusive Marinette.”

She swallowed. “We're not talking about this.”

Adrien continued to search through a drawer, tossing aside objects without a care, furthering the mess that hadn't been cleaned up before. “Oh, we definitely are,” he replied cheerily. “She's been trying to get all of us to meet you for ages, you know? We even had a birthday party for you last year, but you never turned up.”

She vividly remembered the birthday parties that her adoptive parents had arranged each year when they'd been living together, trying to make her be more sociable; it ended up with a few of Alix's closest friends coming over to visit, and Marinette hiding in her bedroom, telling whoever came to the door to leave her alone.

“If you're such good friends with her, you should've seen pictures of me.” The words came out sounding bitter, but that hadn't been her intention.

“I only got to know her from university,” Adrien replied.

There was even more of a difference in their lives there; Marinette hadn't managed to hold steady grades, let alone a part-time job. While Alix had been accepted into university, Marinette had packed up her belongings and moved out on her own, steadily ignoring those that tried to reach out to her in favour of her relationship with Chloé.

He chuckled. “I've seen some from a couple of years ago, but she hasn't uploaded any new ones since she tried to get you to go bowling with her ages ago.”

A sour taste settled in her mouth. “Just give me the damn pamphlet so I can leave.”

“I was considering making one with illustrations included, but I'm not really good at drawing,” he mused, then made an triumphant noise as he held up a book, clearly what he'd been looking for. “You'll have to deal with this shitty notebook instead; it's got the most important stuff in there, okay? I'm still not sure about your element, so I just included all of them.”

Her hands felt cold as she accepted the book. “Why are you helping me?”

Chloé snorted from beside her. “Because he wants your help smiting wayward spirits, but he's too chicken shit to bring it up out of nowhere.”

“What?” she blurted, her eyes trained onto the sheepish smile that appeared on his lips. “I— _why_?”

“It's in the book,” Adrien insisted, gesturing towards where she was cradling against her chest. “So is my number if you have any questions, but you're always welcome to come here.”

So shook her head so much that her bangs slapped her cheeks. “No.”

“The offer's still open,” he continued, pretending that she hadn't rejected him at all. “If my friends are ever here and I'm not, just tell them that it's important and they'll let you in, I assure you. And that applies to you, too, Chloé.”

That had her hands curling tightly around the book. “Thanks, but no,” Marinette practically spat out, scowling. “Bye.”

He didn't try and follow her out.

Chloé was silent as they walked. Marinette was well aware that she was being irrational with her emotions, and immature, too, with the way she'd reacted with her only friend being friendly with someone else. But, it had been all she'd known— _they'd_ known—

“I won't stop you if you want to be friends with him,” Marinette started when they'd almost reached their home, words barely a whisper as she stubbornly stared ahead instead of seeing her friend's reaction.

Chloé snorted. “ _Friends_?”

“You were... you didn't hate him,” she said weakly, fiddling with the keys that she'd retrieved from her pocket. “I know that—that you've been stuck with me, but—”

“Hang the fuck on,” Chloé interjected, the coldness that appeared on her shoulder meaning that she'd reached out and tried to stop her from walking forward. “I was humouring him for you, you giant idiot.”

Stopping where they were by the the staircase going up to her floor, Marinette leaned against the railing as she turned to stare at her friend as she asked, “Why?”

“Because he's clearly able to be a normal human being, and that's what you _want_ , isn't it?” Chloé threw her hands up in exasperation. “He's everything you've longed to be!”

“I don't _need_ that,” Marinette defended quietly, though the words sounded like a lie, even to her. “I've got you.”

Chloé snottily retorted, “And look where that's got you! You're so depressed that the only reason you haven't killed yourself is because you'd feel sorry for me.”

She blinked furiously, eyes growing hot and irritated. “I—that's not true,” she tried to argue.

“I'm not saying that you should pawn me off to him to happily go off yourself,” Chloé announced, honest as ever. “But being civil to him to learn how to use your abilities to your own advantage without loathing yourself? That's something you've been trying to do for _years_ without success.”

Her throat felt tight, and the wetness of her eyes was hard to contain. “You don't need to point that out to me.”

“Don't I?” Chloé raised her eyebrows. “I can't even count the amount of times you've cried over pushing Alix away, and now you've seen him cosying up to her. Doesn't that make you _mad_?”

“Of course it does!” she snapped, raising her palms to furiously rub at her eyes, smearing her tears in the process. “But learning won't fix the past—I-I can't make up for what I've done to people.”

Chloé's voice was soft as she said, “You don't have to like him to use him, you know.”

“I really don't like him,” she muttered, immature.

“Consider him a pesky teacher,” Chloé announced. “And make sure to do your homework. I'm sure we can figure out enough without actually talking to him.”

As much as she didn't like it, and wanted to wallow in her self-pity, Chloé had always had a way with words; or, rather, it was how soft her eyes grew when she looked at Marinette in her vulnerable moments that managed to sway her decisions every time.

“Fine,” she whispered, rubbing her eyes hard enough that black spots had appeared in her vision when she'd opened them again. “Let's do this, then.”

-x-

As it turned out, Adrien did include some doodles in the notebook, along with a lot of scribbled out words and different coloured ink, and an awkward layout for where everything was, but it was clear that he'd put a lot of work into it. It had been a couple of weeks since she'd stood him up, but the fact that he'd been thoughtful enough to make such a thing only made her mad.

It was even worse when she read the information.

Ghosts, spirits, anything that she wanted to call them (as there wasn't a single word for them), were a product of regret, it turned out. While they could only appear if their death wasn't of their own actions, and the one that had done it had experienced regret, many didn't stick around past the average lifespan of a year.

It explained why she hadn't seen the dead walking around in period-specific clothing, unless they'd died in obvious costume, but it brought up more questions.

Chloé had been with her for over a decade, since she was snivelling child that was unsure of her sanity.

The ghosts that stuck around fed on humans, in a way. When they were able to conserve enough energy to interact with things, then if they did anything that harmed a living being intentionally, taking it for themselves; from tripping, causing vases to smash and cut skin, and sinister accidents that were deadly, it didn't matter what level of violence it had as long as it wasn't by accident.

While Chloé used her energy that replenished pitifully slow, waiting to taste food or hug Marinette, the ones that stuck around longest weren't anywhere near as sane or friendly. The memories of wandering hands and the screaming in her ears was fresh as she sat there, staring at the page, trying to fully take in the information.

“Marinette,” Chloé interrupted, her finger pointing to the bottom of the page.

She almost wanted to laugh at the illustration.

Apparently, it was easy to tell when a ghost wasn't friendly—not that Marinette had stuck around to find out in the past—and it was something other than the lack of humanity to them; apparently, they weren't up to civil conversation when they were far gone on a few years' lifespan.

It seemed ridiculous, it really did. Chloé wasn't vengeful; she just wanted to enjoy a normal life with her, longed to wear new clothing that would feel soft on her skin, but that wasn't ever going to happen for her. By the book's rule, any spirit that hadn't engaged in spiteful actions faded away rapidly, but it didn't say if it was from lack of wanting to live, or if their energy was depleted.

The last one didn't make sense, though. Sometimes, it took Chloé days to regain the ability to interact, and the steady trickle of energy had slowly increased through the years, but it still wasn't much. But it had never been because she'd hurt Marinette; if anything, the little slaps every now and then had barely been noticeable, and she highly doubted that they'd counted for the requirements, as they'd been done out of comfortableness with each other, rather than spite.

“This is fucked up,” Marinette mused as she turned the page. “You shouldn't even be here, if we're believing everything this says.”

Chloé just shrugged. “Maybe I'm like the chosen one or something—the ghostly saviour.”

“You'd never save anyone unless it benefited you.”

“Stroking my ego sounds pretty beneficial.” She didn't need to turn her head to see that Chloé was grinning. “Don't you think so, Mari?”

She snorted. “I think you should shut up, oh special one.”

There was no official name for the type of mind control that they could use. Adrien tended to call it aggressive suggestion—his personal favourite, he'd scrawled in the margin with a smiley face—and he'd made sure to underline one sentence.

It was the intent that counted.

Marinette pursed her lips in anger.

 _Intent_ didn't matter when she'd been a child, bawling her eyes out when the glazed face of her teacher listened to anything that she'd said. Even when she'd tried to say that she wasn't hungry to her adoptive parents, that she wanted to skip dinner to study in the room, but it had ended up with with slackened faces and her running up the stairs before slamming the door shut, her back pressed against the wood as she breathed heavily.

It was a problem that she couldn't control. Whereas Adrien had been able to talk freely with his friends, surely enjoy his life, she'd shut herself off from everyone else.

His tips didn't help; controlling her emotions was hard on a good day, and picturing their sad expressions if they'd ever find out that she'd controlled them wasn't something she wanted to do every time she spoke to someone.

If that was how he made it through the day guilt-free, she had to wonder how he was able to come across so positive.

The purpose of the power was, apparently, so they could take care of the wayward ghosts without attracting attention to themselves. It was to steer civilians away without problems, alter memories of those that could see it, and the next page answered any questions that she had.

When they interacted with elements, it caused their image to distort to anyone that was looking at them; that included through the lens of a device, or the naked eye on passer-bys that were on the street (and if they did come to investigate, they could tell them to go on their merry way, inputting the thought that they'd seen nothing).

Everything was intertwined and connected, there for a reason, and Adrien was stressing throughout that their powers were only supposed to be used for that purpose. He was adamant that they shouldn't be used on someone for their own personal gain when spirits weren't involved, that it wasn't the intention for the blessing that had been given to them—

Reading that he considered it a blessing had her expelling the contents of her stomach into the kitchen sink.

A blessing wouldn't drive her to be alone, nor would it cause for her to be too scared to use a gas stove.

Marinette swallowed audibly.

“He's biased,” she accused quietly as she stared at the pages.

Chloé made a noise of acknowledgement. “Wouldn't you be if you were raised believing that you're doing everything for a good purpose?”

A brief description explained that, just like they'd theorised, ghosts had to be touching an element somehow for it to be hurt—but the element had to be controlled by them somehow, rather than stray water droplets that fell from the sky. If it wasn't attached to their will, then it wouldn't have any effect, and wouldn't interact with anything abnormally.

“This is ridiculous,” she said, scoffing. “Am I supposed to believe he just throws rocks at people?”

“Maybe.” Chloé shrugged. “We _did_ see that he had someone's feet trapped in the pavement before—seems pretty handy that he can make little earthquakes, but I don't suppose he can use it for anything but fighting.”

She frowned, reading ahead until a soft noise of frustration escaped her.

“What?” Chloé queried, curious.

There was list of things that each element could do; for earth, as he called it, air, water, and fire.

The only problem was that they were terribly short.

“It's not very detailed here at all,” she complained, turning the book so Chloé could read the limited text clearly. “I just—I don't know, I expected something more.”

Chloé hummed. “Maybe he's not going to tell you everything out of nowhere? I mean, it's not like he listed much for his here. All he's put down is that rocks like him.”

“Real informative,” she said sarcastically. “Great.”

It was with frustration that she reopened the book the following day, looking through the pages again to see whether she'd missed anything before. While it had provided almost everything that she needed to know about spirits, and aggressive suggestion (Chloé couldn't keep a straight face while saying that), there was no denying that he probably wanted her to seek him out for more answers—the phone number that was scrawled out, again, on the follow page proved that, too.

Marinette decided to stubbornly research herself.

While it was usually just playing with candles that she did when she was feeling brave, despite her hammering heartbeat in her chest, Chloé convinced her to sit beside her as she did it, and it was pursed lips that Marinette had put the jar with the unlit candle onto her lap, staring down at it uncertainly.

“What if I hurt you?” she asked quietly.

Chloé was full of confidence. “We saw that a little bit of stone didn't cause that dude to disappear on the spot, I'll be _fine_.”

The lighter was held in her clammy hand. “Fire isn't exactly a rock.”

“Come on,” Chloé said, startling her by clapping her hands together and producing a noise (an uncommon occurrence for her, other than when her body reacted with itself). “I trust you not to burn me to a crisp, you know.”

Her stomach tightened. “I don't.”

“Well, someone has to around here.” Chloé sniffed. “Your lack of self-confidence is seriously worrying. Sometimes, I wonder whether I just didn't raise you right.”

An honest laugh escaped her. “You raised me to cheat on tests.”

“And look at you _now_! They're clearly not very important.”

After some joking, which had mostly been on Chloé's part, Marinette took in a deep breath before lighting the wick. The flame flickered naturally without her interference at first for a few seconds, but it caught onto her nervousness immediately, a consequence that happened whenever she was within reaching distance of fire.

Chloé put her hand above the flame, but she couldn't quickly said that feel the heat coming off of it, even when it was wobbling unnaturally.

When her friend pulled her hand away, Marinette made sure her clothing was far away as possible, a sleeveless shirt having been put on before, and coaxed the flame into her open hand. While it wouldn't harm her skin, and therefore any of her hairs, material wasn't considered a part of her, something that she had to learn the hard way when she'd cried in fear when she was younger.

She swallowed the lump in her throat as she turned, cupping the flame with two hands. It had grown larger than how small it had been before, unnaturally and it would've surely been overflowing over the glass jar if it had still been attached to the wick. It made no sense, not really, but being able to will how large it could be was always difficult for her.

Which was proven by how it roared and raged in size, alternating between almost hitting her chin before folding in half within the flickers.

“Still can't feel it,” Chloé said as she held her hands up to it. “Go ahead and touch me, I guess.”

Marinette stared at the flame, wide-eyed, untrusting.

The assurance came in a soft call of, “Marinette.”

Transferring the flame to one hand, Marinette slowly extended her arm, making it so the top of the irregular flame was touching the back of Chloé's hand. She'd expected to flinch, for there to be a scream of surprise—maybe even pain—but she still stiffened when Chloé made a noise of surprise.

“What?” she questioned, eloquent as ever when she felt pressured.

“I can kind of feel it?” Chloé explained, tilting her head to the side as the flame roared in response to Marinette's panic. “I—”

The rest of her sentence was cut off by a screech, and while Chloé rushed away, standing up from the sofa and backing away until she was across the room, Marinette tried to keep the flames under control. But between the intimidating presence in her hands and the terrifying echo of her pulse loud in her head, she managed to singe her and ruin one of the cushions of the couch by the time it had been put out.

Chloé looked close to tears (she couldn't cry, but she could look just as pathetic as she would if she really could do so), holding onto her long hair in front of her, frantically trailing her fingers through the blond-coloured strands. From the distance, there was no telling whether there had been any effect, and the burnt smell from the sofa wasn't helping her figure out whether she'd harmed her.

It was just a relief that she'd broken her fire alarm.

“Chloé?” Marinette called once she'd found her voice, but it was as weak as she felt.

A laugh escaped her. “I—holy _shit_ , don't do that again.”

It didn't sound like the words of a dying person, thankfully. “You're okay?” she asked, standing up on wobbly knees, almost knocking into the arm of the sofa as she crossed the room.

“Absolutely,” Chloé assured her, and that caused her shoulders to sag in relief. “And my hair's not singed, thankfully.”

Later on, after Chloé had demanded for them to get food delivered, Marinette learned that when she was controlling it willingly—not just effecting it because of her proximity—Chloé could feel the heat coming from it, but it didn't physically harm her before it had flared up from her emotions while she was holding it.

As there wasn't any burn marks on Chloé's body—a body that wasn't able to be altered in many ways—they deduced that the pain inflicted when Marinette lost control or wanted it to happen was excruciating. As Chloé was able to eat afterwards, there was no sign that the fire had changed her energy levels from before the incident, and there was no display of her presence being weaker than normal.

But the way Marinette looked over to see her friend absently rubbing at the hand that had touched the fire throughout the following days, she was absolute in her decision not to get involved.

-x-

She lasted a week before visiting Adrien's home.

As she didn't want him to have her number, not wanting to be bothered by requests to join him, she chose to accept the invitation to knock on his door when a customer brought her to that part of town. It wasn't too far from her own home, not worth taking a bus to get to it, and it was with a frown that she made sure that bills were hidden in her pockets before she pressed the bell.

It was a slightly familiar face that answered the door; a female with curly red-coloured hair that looked at her curiously. “Can I help you?”

As Chloé walked past and entered, causing her to shiver from Chloé having stubbornly gone through her, Marinette awkwardly asked, “Is Adrien here?”

She blinked. “He's at work right now, but I can take a message, if you want?”

Her eyes flickered to where Chloé had disappeared through the hallway, surely exploring the room with more confidence than the last time they'd been there. “Can you tell me what time he'll be home?”

“In an hour or so, I think?” was offered, before she interrupted herself with a noise of surprise. “Wait, I—you're Alix's sister, aren't you?”

That was why she looked familiar, then, she realised with a grimace. Adrien had mentioned that his two friends that he lived with were still at Alix's, but she'd been too on edge to really pay attention to anyone, and from the lack of contact she had with Alix since, it was clear that she was being given a moment to breathe before being hounded to meet up again.

“Marinette,” she corrected quietly. “I just—”

“No, no,” the red-haired female interjected, opening the door wider as she gestured inside with one hand. “It's fine, you can wait inside until he's back. And I'm Alya, in case you've forgotten already.”

Stiffly, she entered the doorway as she said, “I wasn't aware that we'd actually talked.”

“Well, not really,” Alya said with a laugh, closing the door behind them. “You were a bit too busy wallowing in your misery to pay attention to anyone—not that I'm judging you, I don't even _know_ you.”

Marinette felt increasingly more awkward as she was ushered inside and told to sit down in the living room, and when she looked down to see the mud that she'd tracked in on the floorboards, she felt worse from seeing the way Alya went to collect a broom immediately without complaining. It didn't help that Chloé wasn't anywhere to be seen, as most of the doors had been left open, along with the stairs that led to the second floor, and that meant that she could've been in any room in the house without her knowing.

She wetted her lips. “I can come back later.”

“Trust me, he's notoriously hard to get a hold of, so you might as well stay put and wait,” Alya disagreed, and then played the generous host as she offered Marinette a list of beverages and even snacks, all of which she rejected.

With Chloé's absence, she felt vulnerable.

Her hands felt clammy from the way Alya kept trying to talk to her casually, going through a load of topics and not showing any dejection when Marinette responded with small or short answers, trying to keep her eyes trained on the floor. The wood was stained, she noted, and there was a dent in the coffee table that added a lot of character to it.

When Chloé finally did return, coming down the stairs with her arms behind her head and a bored-looking expression on her face, Marinette looked up at her with wide eyes before returning her gaze to her shoes, trying not to cause the atmosphere in the room to be any more awkward than it already was. Alya was trying her hardest to befriend her, even mentioning about how she'd met up with Alix for lunch the previous week, but it wasn't causing her to calm down at all.

The nervous fluttering of her heart was a constant that she hated.

Chloé settled down beside her, a comforting presence that announced herself with a sigh. “Sadly, the only interesting thing I found was lingerie that was left on the bed, but I'm pretty sure that belonged to this girl here, rather than Adrien.”

She almost laughed.

When Adrien returned home, Alya had excused herself to answer a phonecall, walking outside onto the patio, still visible through a glass door that had multiple potted plants to the side of it. Marinette was sat on the sofa, quietly conversing with Chloé and trying to keep her wits about her when the door slammed open and a muffled curse followed.

Adrien appeared, looking dishevelled as he had his hair pushed off of his face, secured by a few pins to keep the bangs off of his face, and tight clothing that looked entirely different to the outfits she'd seen him in previously.

He was too busy tossing his bag aside and taking off his shoes and socks to realise that she was there immediately.

Chloé was the one to laugh and call out, “Are you always this aware of your surroundings?”

He almost slipped and fell over, only just saving himself by reaching out and holding onto the wall, causing one framed picture to be askew. “I—what?” he greeted them eloquently, green-coloured eyes widening as he took in the two of them on the sofa. “A bit of warning would've been nice.”

Marinette quietly said, “Alya should've told you I was here.”

“My phone's in my bag,” he explained sheepishly with a shrug, and she was able to see the way his shirt clung to his body as he stretched his arms over his head. “I guess you're here for a reason?”

“Not to sign on to be your sidekick,” she answered bluntly. “I just want to know some more, I guess. I didn't exactly think ahead, and your room-mate made it hard to escape.”

Chloé snorted. “You wouldn't have left me here anyway.”

Rather than being annoyed by their sudden appearance, Adrien agreed to answer any questions she had in return for being allowed to shower first. Well, allowed wasn't the right word; he'd simply said he'd be back as soon as possible, and to tell Alya that he was home if she returned before him, and disappeared upstairs.

Chloé listed off what they wanted to know to refresh her memory while snooping around the room, making little comments on the décor or the scuffed furniture that clearly had seen some bad days. It made her relax a little, as Chloé had a talent of knowing what to say to make any situation better, and she'd calmed down from her panic when footsteps sounded.

Alya was still on the phone when he returned with wet hair, a small towel wrapped around his shoulders, while his clothes were baggier than before, a lot more comfortable-looking.

“Hey,” he greeted, rubbing the stray droplets from his neck. “Are you staying for dinner?”

It was bewildering, to say the least. “Aren't you worried I'm here to rob you or something?”

“You would've done that already, if that was your intention,” he explained away with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Besides, I'm your mentor of sorts, right? It makes no sense for me to be suspicious of you.”

He was just—he was so _trusting_. Marinette would've never allowed someone so openly into her life, willingly revealing all of the important details without anything in return. The way Adrien had opened his home to her without any worry was terrifying to her, and how he'd trusted her not to control his room-mates was baffling.

She couldn't even trust herself not to accidentally control a cashier at the supermarket.

Of all the things that she could've said, she settled for a quiet, “You're far too trusting.”

“I guess.” He shrugged. “But you're a kindred spirit to me, aren't you? I haven't had anyone to relate to since my mother passed away.”

There was a bitter feeling welling inside her. “We're not the same.”

“Clearly not,” Adrien agreed, sitting down across from her, his eyes flickering to Chloé before going back to her. “You're here because of your friend, aren't you?”

Chloé made a dramatic noise of disapproval before she corrected him, “It's _Chloé_.”

“Okay, Chloé,” he repeated, trying to placate her with a polite smile that didn't show the indents of his cheeks. “So you're... aware that you're not normal, right?”

What was normal to them at all? Before Chloé could defend herself, in surely what would've been an aggressive way, Marinette confirmed, “That's mostly why we're here, yes. The... information you gave for the spirits? It doesn't add up for her situation.”

“Well, that might be because I didn't tell you everything,” Adrien revealed easily, leaning back in the chair and resting one ankle on his knee, looking far too relaxed compared to how she felt. “I had to try and lure you over to talk to me somehow, you know?”

“Great,” she muttered. “What did you miss out?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is that any way to ask for a favour?”

“Please,” Marinette said without any emotion.

The laugh that escaped him sounded honest, and that scared her. Adrien had no qualms with sharing anything with her, it seemed, and welcomed her openly into his home which he shared with others, ones that were potentially vulnerable to her emotions. And yet, he seemed at ease, somehow putting the trust in her not to ruin anything for him, and that made her feel on edge.

Adrien revealed his theory, and it sounded a little bit plausible, despite the lack of information. He'd neglected to write down that losing memories was commonplace for spirits; all of them lose their past selves, wandering around with deteriorating attention spans, and he theorised that it was because she could see Chloé, and therefore talk to her, that was possibly why she'd managed to last for so many years.

“Fourteen years,” Marinette corrected when he was trying to guess how long they'd been together, but none of his predictions had been over a decade. “Almost fifteen.”

He went a bit slack jawed at that. “Fifteen?”

“She was a cute child,” Chloé chimed in, lips stretching into a smug smile. “At least, when she wasn't bawling and hiding in the corner from me.”

“Wait, wait,” Adrien interrupted, waving a hand to catch their attention so their gazes switched back to him. “You—you've been able to see them for that long?”

She furrowed her brow. “Is that important?”

“That changes just about everything, yes,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair before sitting up properly, eyes darting to the glass doors where Alya was visible before focusing back on them. “Forgive me if I'm being insensitive, but how old were you when you lost your parents?”

Marinette replied bluntly, “Too young to remember them.”

“So, before you met Chloé, then,” he said, looking for confirmation. And when she nodded, and he waited to see whether she'd add anything onto that, she realised that he was probably expecting a more emotional reaction, one more along the lines of the others she'd had. “This power—what we have—it passes down through our bloodline, and triggers when we experience a traumatic event.”

She wiped her hands on her jeans. “A toddler losing their parents can be considered traumatic, yes.”

“All the records I've had passed down to me have pointed towards them appearing at puberty; none later than that, no matter the trauma. I thought—I don't know, really,” Adrien mused, contemplative as though he was talking about a plot twist of a television show rather than their lives. “I don't suppose you know whether both your parents were blessed?”

Chloé outright laughed at the last word.

“No,” Marinette said, trying to hold back her amusement. “I know their names, but that's not really important, is it?”

He made a non-committal noise at that.

While he was clearly thinking about his words, Marinette fiddled with the end of her braid, eyes darting to Chloé beside her—who was busy looking at her nails, despite the fact that she couldn't do anything to them—and the awkwardness that had appeared between the three of them was undeniable. The lack of aggression from Chloé was something to be thankful for, really, as Marinette doubted that she would've been able to stay as calm as she was presenting herself to be if her friend was screeching. It also proved that despite her friend being stuck at sixteen permanently, she'd matured past that.

“Okay,” Marinette said suddenly, breaking the silence. “You're taking too long, so I'm just going to ask what I want to know.”

He spluttered, “That's not—”

“You want me to help you, right?” she shot back, stubbornly crossing her arms. “I'm not sitting through countless lectures—I'm here for the answers I want to hear, not theorising why I developed quicker than you.”

For a moment, it looked like he was going to protest before he just nodded and leaned back so he was more comfortable. “Go ahead, then,” he urged, resting his chin in his open palm. “I'll try not to be vague or cryptic.”

Checking that Alya was still outside, Marinette turned back to face him and bluntly asked, “How do you get ghosts to disappear? You only wrote touching them with an element, but that didn't—it's not that simple.”

Adrien blinked. “You just hit them with stuff, basically? I thought it was pretty obvious.”

As Marinette stared, Chloé was the one to exclaim, “You want to beat me to _death_?”

“Well, not you?” he offered, a lopsided smile appearing when he saw how affronted Chloé looked. “Other than the whole memory loss, you're pretty much harmless; like a baby ghost. That's impressive, actually. The others I've seen like you normally get absorbed, and they definitely don't try to befriend anyone.”

It was a lot of information that he just offered, but all Marinette could blurt out was, “Absorb?”

“Oh,” Adrien said slowly, grimacing. “Did I leave that out?”

“You absolutely did, asshole,” Chloé spat, standing up and balling her hands into fists at her side. “Are you saying there's a way for me to actually die other than you?”

Adrien looked sheepish as he shrugged his shoulders and replied, “It's not really like you're alive right now, is it? I mean, you're already _dead—_ ”

The rest of his words were cut off by the glass door sliding open, and Alya loudly announced her arrival by calling out, “Nino's going to be late!” Then, ignoring the tense atmosphere that had appeared, Alya continued to walk into the room, walking through Chloé with a shiver and sitting down next to Marinette. “Want to stay for dinner, Marinette? Nino's very excited to meet you properly.”

She had to assume that Nino was the other person featured in the pictures scattered across the room.

Before she could answer, Adrien swiftly interjected with, “I've already asked, but she's determined to not be our friend, sadly.”

“Maybe yours,” Alya said, rolling her eyes. “Before you came along, we were getting along quite well, actually. Right, Marinette?”

When Alya turned to stare her hazel-coloured eyes at her, Marinette felt herself stiffen, and as she'd already scooted along to create distance between the two of them, she awkwardly ran her hands along her jeans and offered no reply.

“Clearly.” Adrien laughed. “And you might want to be careful, there's a ghost right beside you.”

“Yeah, nice joke.” Alya snorted, putting one thigh on top of the other as she made herself comfortable. “That one grew old after the first two weeks, Adrien.”

Looking to Chloé, who was still standing up from where her temper had flared up and she'd reacted on instinct as though she wasn't dead, she saw that her bewildered expression was mirrored.

Adrien pointed in Chloé's directions. “No, really,” he tried to convince her. “You felt a chill when you sat down, didn't you? You kind of walked through an undressed teenage girl.”

“I'm in my _pyjamas_!”

Alya didn't even bat an eyelash at that, getting her phone out and illuminating the screen. “Is she legal, at least? I'd rather not have to deal with a minor.”

“I'm not sure,” he answered, seeming to be amused by the turn of the conversation. “How old did you say you are, Chloé?”

It—it was just _ridiculous_. She'd stuffed away her stubborn feelings and sought him out for answers, but Adrien was more concerned with being friendly with anyone, it seemed. It didn't matter to him that he was stalling, not telling her everything outright, and all it only caused to frustrate her further.

Her nails dug into the material of her jeans.

“Stop,” she whispered, eyes closed as she was frustrated beyond what she thought she'd be from his attitude. “I—this isn't why I'm here.”

Although there was no sound, she knew that Chloé would be beside her, a comforting that she couldn't feel, but it was a consistent that she always counted on.

“Just... stop playing with me, okay?” Marinette let out, pushing her hair away from her forehead. “I'm not here because I like you. I'm not here to stay for dinner, be your friend, or any of that—I just want to know what's going on.”

When she felt a hand on her shoulder, she recoiled, moving away and causing the arm of the sofa to dig into her back as she saw Alya's surprised face, who had a hand still hovering in the air.

Marinette stuttered, “Leave me alone.”

Then, to her horror, she saw the way Alya's expression slackened, the way it relaxed on command, hand falling down to her side as her body sagged, but not enough for her to fall over.

“Hey!” Adrien exclaimed, standing up and approaching them immediately, putting himself between the two of them as he gently placed his hands on Alya's shoulders. Marinette grimaced to herself as he tilted his friend's head up to look at him, his hands keeping her in place from leaving as Marinette had instructed, and he instructed, “Ignore what was last said to you.”

It was a few seconds before Alya let out a noise of surprise. “I—what just happened?”

“A mistake,” Adrien answered, checking her over to make sure she was okay and able to sit still without following the demand any more. “It might be best for you to leave us for now, though. It seems Marinette's not very experienced at controlling her powers.”

“Her—her what?” Alya asked, sounding thoroughly confused before she leaned to the side to look at Marinette. “Are you the same as him?”

She stiffened. “I don't see how that's any of your business.”

“You probably just did that mind shit on me, didn't you?” Alya shot back, raising her eyebrows so they were visible above her spectacles. “I think that's more than enough reason for me to know.”

Faltering for words, unsure of how to react to someone else knowing—someone close to him, that he could confide in—had her looking to Chloé for some sort of guidance, but her friend seemed to be just as stunned by the development. Of all the times she'd tried to tell others about what she could see, what she could _do_ , none of them had believed her.

But Adrien had that.

“That wasn't yours to tell,” Chloé spat out, glaring openly at Adrien. “We're here to see you, not your annoying room-mate. If you don't get her to leave, I'll fucking trip her when she's going up the stairs.”

He looked at her, unimpressed. “Yeah, and I'll _smite_ you. Are you sure that's worth it?”

“Fuck _you—_ ”

The exchange was getting out of hand. Marinette was already having enough trouble staying calm, especially when she'd already messed up and possibly jeopardised her only source of information, and adding Chloé and him being at odds with each other only caused her frustration to climb.

“Adrien? What are you—there's really a ghost _here_?” Alya shrieked, pulling a pillow into her hands as she looked into the air in the direction where Adrien had turned his head, but it resulted in her staring at nothing. “Get rid of it!”

Chloé whirled around to face the one person in the room that couldn't see her. “ _It_?”

Marinette put her face in her hands and sighed.

-x-

It didn't end up in flames, somehow.

After Alya had left (reluctantly), and Marinette was able to calm Chloé down enough, Adrien was more open with telling them information. He said that it was to serve as an apology for revealing her secret, but he promised that they wouldn't reveal it to anyone else, unless she wanted them to, and she'd just stared at him with a blank expression when he'd said that.

There wasn't much trust between them.

It turned out that the reason ghosts avoided each other—even just for interaction, which explained why they'd stayed away from her when she was there with Chloé—was because those in close proximity absorbed the other. He tried to assure her that it was a harmless process, one of natural selection, apparently, but it didn't stop her from imagining the worst possible situations.

“It doesn't happen instantly,” he assured her, recognising the signs of her panicking. “Think of it like animals, I guess? It's why you don't do thousands of them walking around; only the strongest appear after an accident, which explains why you don't see whole families, even if they are dead and without their memories. And, if they don't actively antagonise the living to pass the time, they either disappear by themselves or because they wandered too close to another of their kind.”

She frowned. “Is there a specific distance?”

“Who knows?” Adrien shrugged. “Unlike Chloé, most don't actually want to interact with us.”

Then, his friendliness kicked in when he offered for her to look at the books he'd inherited from his mother—he was adamant that he wanted to be there while she looked at them, since they were precious, and that resulted in Marinette coming back the following day, when his room-mates weren't present.

Chloé was a lot more vocal about her dislike for him, but the comments were bratty, her usual brand of humour, rather than intentionally hurtful ones that would've riled them up. And Adrien replied to her, laughing off the insults instead of taking them the wrong way immediately, which had Marinette fiddling with her sleeves, trying hard not to interrupt their interactions. It was Chloé's only chance to talk to someone other than her, and she had no plans to ruin that, no matter her feelings on the subject.

That didn't mean she might not sulk a little when they were alone, however.

The atmosphere wasn't any less awkward between them. Marinette stayed silent as she flipped through, and Adrien developed the habit of tapping his fingertips against his thighs to entertain himself, while Chloé just grumbled and walking around his room, only perking up when she found little figurines of a television series that Marinette left on in the night sometimes.

As children inherited their parents' element if the power was to appear, it was mostly earth-related information that he had. When she closed the book shut with a sigh, Adrien just offered her a smile and asked, “Definitely not a rock girl, then?”

“No,” she confirmed, running a hand through her hair.

“Okay,” Adrien started, taking out his cell phone and checking something on the device. “You obviously need some help, and since I'm so kind, I'll be able to fit you in at the weekend.”

She squinted. “I still don't trust you, though.”

“That's fine,” he replied easily, offering her a smile that didn't reach his eyes. “I probably wouldn't trust me either if I accidentally mind-washed people on a daily basis.”

Defensively, Marinette lamely said, “It's not _daily_.”

“My bad.” He held his hands up in a sign of surrender, but he hadn't sounded sincere. “Still, I want to help you.”

And, after some hesitation, she accepted.

Before visiting his home at the weekend, her first act of opening up to his was by sharing her phone number. Marinette sent a short message, saying that it was her, and was a bit baffled by the one she got in return that was filled with emojis and clear enthusiasm that hers had lacked.

And then, as the days of the week passed, Adrien started a habit of sending her a message daily. They were filled with mundane things, asking how her day was going before filling her in on his, including little details that she hadn't asked before—didn't _want_ to know—and it was clear that he was still pushing for a friendship with her.

Awkwardly, Marinette didn't reply to them, but she made sure to read each one. She learned that he taught children ballet for a living, which made Chloé laugh when she remembered the awful time Marinette had had in lessons with one of her families for a while. He sent her a picture of him with Alya and their other room-mate, Nino—a tanned male with glasses—who turned out to be Alya's boyfriend, and he promised that the two of them were absolutely okay with what they were.

She didn't know how to feel about that.

When she arrived at his house that weekend, she was just as awkward as before. Chloé practically ran inside from her excitement (a lot more enthusiastic than Marinette felt), and when Marinette caught sight of Alya perched on the sofa and waving with a smile at her, she couldn't hold back her grimace.

Adrien's idea of helping was giving her talking lessons, apparently.

Her hands were clammy throughout, and even with Alya's reassurance that she was fine with it, it didn't make her feel any calmer. When Alya and Adrien started to recount stories of when they were younger, of how Adrien had accidentally made her do ridiculous things when he was still struggling with his powers, it just made her want to leave even more.

Whenever Alya's posture slackened and Marinette withdrew, frustrated, there wasn't any angry reactions directed at her. Adrien just made sure that Alya was okay, rectifying anything that Marinette had commanded, while Chloé sat perched on the arm beside Marinette, muttering comments that usually would've lightened the mood and make her feel better.

But it didn't, not really. Marinette didn't feel comfortable where she was, in an unknown environment, and opening up to anyone was notoriously hard.

The two of them were just—they were _too_ friendly to her. Marinette was used to isolating herself, avoiding eye contact with most, and trying to watch her words when talking to strangers, but they were just as persistent as Alix had been.

It helped a little bit that they didn't bring Alix's name up that time. Even when Nino walked in halfway through, he stopped himself in the middle of his sentence when recalling the party where they'd met.

Alya swapped out and Nino took her place for a bit, which made Marinette wonder whether he knew the entire situation. They'd said that they'd keep her secret, but she'd only assumed that it would extend to the other room-mate, too.

It didn't last long, though. Marinette was growing visibly agitated, constantly shifting in her seat and becoming tired from the constant use, and it was only when Chloé spoke up and pointed out her growing fatigue that they stopped.

There wasn't much improvement from the one session, not really. Marinette had let out strained commands for what seemed like hours on end, and only three of them had gone through without causing them to happen, compared to the dozens that had failed.

She awkwardly rejected the request to stay for dinner, and Adrien's offer to drive her home, still preferring to keep some of her life private. Giving him the number to her personal phone, rather than the work one, was already quite a feat.

It was when she'd reached for the handle of the front door that she paused, turning to look back at Adrien with furrowed eyebrows. “I thought you weren't going to tell Nino?”

“I'm a terrible liar,” he offered as an explanation. “Besides, he's absolutely fine with it—wait, I told you that he knew earlier in the week.”

She blinked. “I guess I just skimmed over it.”

“He's pretty chill about all of it, so you don't have to worry,” Adrien tried to assure her.

From the way Nino and Alya called out their good-byes loudly as she left, she had to assume that he was right.

It became a bit of a routine after that. Adrien continued to message her daily, sometimes attaching comedic pictures that had her a bit baffled that he'd send them in the first place, and they arranged to meet again in the middle of the week. When she arrived at his home, Nino let her in with a smile, supplying most of the conversation, seeming to not be annoyed by Marinette's lack of participation as they waited for Adrien to return from work.

“He gets distracted by the parents sometimes,” Nino offered as an explanation. He was sat in an armchair across from her, laptop on his thighs and headphones resting on his neck, absently scrolling through different songs.

As he didn't want to be rude, he hadn't put them on properly, but she could vaguely hear the sound coming through. Some of the beats were familiar, and the faint singing had her tapping her fingers against her thighs as the conversation trailed off with him focusing more on his screen than her.

Chloé had scoffed at the choice of music, standing up and wandering through the house, saying she'd return when something interesting happened.

Being alone with Nino wasn't so terrifying when they weren't actually talking. She did notice that he turned the music volume up a bit, but that was all that changed.

Adrien broke the silence when he came home, loudly calling out for his friend before he excused himself to shower quickly before returning.

Once Marinette had pointed out that she didn't share his element, and therefore wouldn't be able to be tutored by him (to which he didn't press her for more information once she'd said she was uncomfortable talking about it), they continued with the same exercises as the previous time, having Nino as a willing victim.

“You're really bad at this,” Adrien said bluntly when she'd called the session to an end from starting to grow tired. “I had this under control by the time I was seventeen.”

Chloé bristled. “Good for you.”

“Then again, I did have a mother that helped me out with it—”

Marinette sighed as she reached up to pull her hair into a ponytail, readying herself to leave. “Congratulations. Meanwhile, I've been mind-washing everyone accidentally for as long as I can remember. Do you want a medal?”

“Okay, this is coming out wrong,” Adrien admitted sheepishly. “I just—this might not be your forté, you know? Sometimes, we're a lot better at other things.”

She snorted. “Is that your not-so-subtle way of asking about my element again?”

Chloé scowled. “Can't you mind your own fucking business for once?”

“I'm just saying,” he continued with a shrug. “Earth's pretty shit for what we have to do, honestly. Levitating stones for a long period of time takes a lot of concentration, and trying to keep them touching someone's body is just unrealistic, really. Can you imagine how much trouble I have trying to hold someone down just so I can hit them?”

Marinette just looked at him dubiously. “I'm not even convinced you can do everything that was listed in the book you showed me.”

“Show me yours and I'll show you mine.”

“Not really what that phrase is used for,” she muttered. “And no, I'm not going to do that.”

Adrien protested, “At least—”

Knowing that Marinette was reluctant to talk about it, Chloé chimed in and interrupted him with, “You're being an asshole again.”

“Again?” he queried, surprised.

“My bad,” Chloé responded monotonously. “You're awful all of the time.”

Marinette raised a hand to her mouth to muffle her laughter. From how she'd been irrationally jealous of the two of them getting along before, back when they'd only been talking about television, she'd tried to open herself up to the idea of the two of them getting along, and seeing them bickering was something she was growing somewhat fond of. It helped that Adrien seemed to be constantly positive, not taking Chloé's words to heart.

They weren't friends, but it was close.

-x-

For her birthday, Marinette shared a cake with Chloé.

It was overly expensive, one she'd had to place an order for a week before to make sure it was finished in time, and it was one of the only splurges that she constantly did each year. As Chloé didn't know when her birthday was, and she couldn't age, Marinette saved up her money to buy a cake that they'd both appreciate each year.

She didn't ignore Alix's invitation, but she did reply that she was busy.

Although it was a routine by then, she only felt guilty about it when Adrien wished her a happy birthday, following up that message by saying Alix had told him about it.

Despite Adrien's intimidating enthusiasm, they continued to keep up the lessons. Whether it was Alya or Nino present, or sometimes both of them, they didn't stop trying to have her stay over for dinner. They were friendly with her beyond belief, forgiving after their eyes had glazed over, and she had a bit of trouble accepting that they were truly fine with what they were doing.

“It's fine,” Alya assured her when they were alone together, as Adrien had disappeared to get a drink. “You need the help, and we're able to give it, so why wouldn't we?”

She stared at her. “Because you don't know me?”

“We've heard a few snippets over the years from Alix,” Alya pointed out, pushing her spectacles further up her nose. “But Adrien... he's really happy that he's met someone else like him.”

She averted her gaze, fiddling with her skirt. “We're not the same.”

“No, you're not,” Alya agreed easily. “But I imagine you've been through pretty similar things in the past.”

Closing her eyes, Marinette tried to keep her thoughts from straying. She didn't want to think of the heat, the wild and untameable violence that could appear, not when she was doing so well on keeping herself calm.

“No,” she whispered softly. “I don't think so.”

Slowly, she started to reply to his constant messages. It started because he'd sent a picture of a cat that he'd found in his studio one day, and the onslaught on emojis hadn't stopped until she'd sent back a compliment about the stray.

It was a start realising that she found him amusing. After the misunderstandings had been cleared up, and she no longer suspected that he wanted to kill her best friend, he was tolerable. There was no worry that she'd mess up when looking into his eyes, which was a plus, but whenever they met up in person, it was always for the lessons where she grew frustrated with her lack of progress.

So, it was the Adrien that she got to know through messages that she liked the best. He wasn't trying to guide on how to use her powers there, not really, and she wasn't constantly faced with failure in the form of slackened jaws that were entirely her doing. When the conversation revolved around silly topics and things that he'd seen during his day, there wasn't much that could make her feel inferior.

While she hadn't revealed her job, where she lived, or what her element was, she did share the other small details about her life. When he asked her to pass on a message to Chloé, either to reveal a spoiler to something that she hadn't seen or to just greet her (something no one else could do, so it resulted in Chloé staying weirdly silent before looking away the first few times), that was what made Marinette the happiest.

The first time she went to Adrien's house for something other than lessons, it was because he'd suggested bringing Chloé over to watch a new television show with him.

As she walked with Chloé through the streets, approaching the turning where they needed to go, Marinette sniffed exaggeratedly. “I feel like I'm dropping you off for your first date.”

“You're the worst,” Chloé said sourly. “And how do you know this is my first date? I could've been really popular before. I mean, look at me, Marinette. Surely someone wanted to touch my breasts.”

“So young!” Marinette exclaimed loudly, drowning her out and moving her hands for emphasis. “So sweet and innocent!”

Chloé snorted. “You do know you're sitting down with us throughout it, right?”

“I'm not really interested in watching your sexual tension,” she said after a moment of silence, purposely keeping her gaze off of Chloé's reaction as she started walking faster. “Then again, I'm sure that he's capable of rocking your world.”

By the time they'd made it to Adrien's front door, Chloé was stubbornly ignoring her, and Marinette's cheeks were hurting from laughter. Adrien raised his eyebrows at their arrival, but he didn't say anything.

The episode was boring, but Adrien and Chloé seemed to be invested in it. Marinette settled with scrolling through pages on her phone to amuse herself, counting down the minutes until it was finished, but a distraction came in the form of her second phone vibrating constantly.

It was the amount they wanted that had her standing up and saying, “I've got to meet someone for work quickly.”

Adrien sounded confused as he pointed out, “But it's past nine.”

“Night-time is prime-time for business,” she responded vaguely. Then, turning to Chloé, she added in, “I'll probably make it back before the end.”

Chloé looked at her dubiously. “But—”

“It'll be fine,” she assured her. It wasn't as though she hadn't gone out alone before; Chloé just preferred to be with her, for company and to be there to encourage Marinette when she felt down. “Besides, if I take you away, you'll never shut up that you never finished watching this.”

By the time she'd returned, thankful that Adrien had left the front door open so she could just walk in instead of disturbing them, the two of them had changed to a different channel, and were talking animatedly. Marinette felt a bit bad when she had to interrupt them to announce her arrival once she'd wandered inside, and it was made worse by Adrien offering to let her use his guest room, since it was late.

She rejected that, but she almost accepted the offer for him to drive her home. The constant walking was something she'd became accustomed to, but she wasn't quite sure that she wanted Adrien to know where she lived. There was a reason why she hadn't shared that detail with anyone, and she wanted it to stay that way.

When it was just her and Chloé, walking through the streets with the cold wind brushing her cheeks, Marinette stated quietly, “So, you like him.”

“He's not so bad when he's not acting almighty,” Chloé replied with a shrug. “It's not like I'm picky with the company I keep either.”

It was just a bit odd to see. There had been a sort of possessiveness that she'd had about Chloé all her life; others hadn't believed her about her ghostly friend, which resulted in a lot of strange looks and awkwardness growing up, and not having to share her had played a large part in that. And when it was combined with Adrien, who had initially seemed so wary of Chloé's presence, it made it even more bemusing.

“Do you...” Marinette trailed off, unsure on how to phrase it. “You want to be his friend, right?”

Chloé didn't turn to look her. “I guess? It's a bit annoying when he repeats everything I say to those two friends of his, but he's—he could be good for you, you know.”

She sighed. “I don't know how to deal with him.”

“And he's well aware of that,” Chloé pointed out. “When you left earlier, he was trying to ask about you.”

“Trying?”

Chloé grinned widely. “You don't really think I'd just give away that precious information, do you? Besides, it'll be fun seeing him struggle to break through your little shell.”

Not knowing how to respond to that, Marinette chose to reply with an attempt at humour. “There's still a chance I'll grow taller than you.”

“Mari, you're twenty-one.”

She sniffed. “And you're dead to me.”

“...I'm dead to everyone, that's kind of the point.”

-x-

The first time she accepted the invitation for dinner at Adrien's house, it was after he'd decided that he'd hit her with stones when she failed to control her powers.

When she first felt the hit against her cheek, it was mostly from the surprise that she jumped, rather than the power behind it, as it had been quite soft. “What?” Marinette blurted out unintelligently as she reached up to touch her cheek, a bit dumbfounded as the stone fell down onto the floorboards. Her eyes quickly flickered up to where Adrien sat on the armchair beside her. “Did you—”

“I was reminded that discipline is a big part of lessons today,” he remarked, throwing a stone into the air before catching it with ease. “And since I'm legally not allowed to assault children, I'm going to take out all my frustrations on you.”

Alya was trying to muffle her laughter, but it wasn't working.

“You can't just attack me,” Marinette shot back lamely, still holding onto her face. “It's not exactly a good motivator.”

He didn't even look sheepish. “It's not my fault you're not motivated by stickers.”

“That doesn't mean you can just—”

Other than the shifting of rocks that she'd seen in the street, it was his first casual use of his powers. Adrien looked at her pointedly before the little rock that he'd been holding onto flew through the air, and she just moved her head to the side to avoid it hitting her.

She really hadn't believed it when she'd read about it, but it seemed that he was perfectly capable of such a thing. It didn't mean that it was any less odd to actually witness, however, but it was reassuring to know that it was only possible with little stones and rocks, ones that he wouldn't struggle holding with one hand, rather than the largest ones that were potentially deadly.

At her shocked expression, Adrien just laughed and offered, “I promise not to hit you hard enough to cause you to bruise?”

“Just don't do it where I can actually see you,” Alya chimed in. “It makes me feel dizzy if you use it too many times.”

“I'll watch your back.”

Alya sighed. “That's not what that phrase is used for, Adrien.”

Despite her previous protests and excuses to leave instead of joining them in the evenings, Marinette found herself tentatively accepting since she'd became gradually more comfortable in their presence. Even when she was left with Alya or Nino, which usually only happened when Adrien came home late, they didn't pressure her for conversation any more, and sometimes just asked her questions out of the blue that she didn't have any qualms about answering.

It was only when Chloé came down from upstairs—where Alya had happily offered her and Nino's television in their bedroom for her to watch something during Marinette's lessons—that dinner became a bit awkward when Marinette asked whether an extra bowl would be possible.

Even Adrien looked stumped.

The dining table had six chairs, thankfully, so she pulled out the one beside her for Chloé to sit on, a tradition that they'd kept up through the years. It was only when Alya almost sat in it, only for Adrien to splutter and pull her away while Chloé muttered underneath her breath, that they were made aware that they really did have an extra guest at the table.

“I just thought you were really hungry,” Nino remarked, staring in amazement across the table. “I—this is _insane_. Dude, how could you never tell us this?”

Chloé pointedly ignored them and kept her attention on her task, trying to make the most of the few minutes worth of energy that she'd saved up to taste the food. It was only because of the smell that she'd requested any at all.

“I didn't know it was even possible,” Adrien said, honesty clear in his voice. “I mean... they just don't seem to be interested normally? I've definitely never seen one snatch food from unsuspecting people like seagulls.”

She suspected it was because ghosts couldn't usually befriend someone living.

Marinette couldn't resist asking, “What does it look like?”

“It's a fucking floating spoon.”

That opened up the floodgates for a lot more questions, apparently. All three of them were directing them at her once she'd explained that Chloé needed to concentrate to actually eat, and then they started to ask all sorts of things; whether her body could process it, if her weight could change depending on how much she ate, and, mostly importantly, what dishes were her favourite for the future.

Nino was the one to ask, “Wouldn't it take less energy if she doesn't have to chew? I mean, like smoothies and stuff. That seems like the kind of thing I'd want to have if I only had a few minutes.”

“Or you could do the whole put a meal in a blender to have all of it at once,” Adrien chimed in, sounding thoughtful. “That would be easy, wouldn't it?”

At Chloé's disgusted face, she couldn't hold back her laughter.

-x-

The next person to earn a place in her contact list was Nino.

Maybe it was when he started recommending songs whenever she visited, or the way he was able to pick up on her sense of humour from the one-sided conversations she had with Choé they were were waiting for Adrien, but somewhere in the weeks of them knowing each other, she started to grow a bit fond of him.

Nino, with his dark-coloured curly hair and thick framed spectacles, turned out to be really forgiving, too. Whenever she accidentally influenced him, especially when it was outside of lessons, he shrugged it off after recovering, and it helped once Adrien had pointed out that she could just undo her last command if she concentrated, rather than surrendering to her negative emotions and panicking a bit.

While she'd started to open up to Adrien, by responding to his messages more frequently and engaging in conversation when they were together in person, and had struck up an understanding with Nino which didn't force her to talk too much, she found Alya a bit difficult to be with. She didn't know whether it was because of Alya's initial reaction to Chloé, or just because she found her enthusiasm stifling at times (particularly when they were alone, meaning no Chloé at her side), but she often found it hard to converse with her.

Seeing Adrien interact with his friends started to slowly get less surreal, but she was still a bit miffed by how easy it was for him to converse with people. By that point, he was well aware that she didn't associate with others well, and Chloé had been the one to point out that she didn't have any other friends in front of him one evening.

She pointedly ignored the look of sympathy that earned.

“It wasn't that bad,” Marinette said lamely. “I had Chloé.”

Adrien's gaze flickered between the two of them. “Still, this gives Alya even more reason to want to adopt you into our little family.”

Chloé snorted. “I'm leaving if you two losers are going to talk about feelings.”

“We're not,” Marinette tried to say, but her friend had already gotten up to her feet and wandered off, going through the glass doors to the garden where Alya and Nino were sitting outside.

Adrien laughed. “She certainly has a way with words, doesn't she?”

“It's a talent.” She looked down at her hands, touching her nails that had grown a bit too long. “Is it that obvious that I'm not good at talking to people?”

“Marinette, you were practically a hissing cat when we first met,” he said, not holding back. “You've kind calmed down a little bit, but you're still really guarded. Not that I'm blaming you for that, really, it just... you're really closed off to others.”

It was an uncomfortable conversation. The weeks of talking had slowly made her open up, but talking about her problems isn't something that she'd done with anyone but Chloé. “Can you blame me?” she asked quietly. “For as long as I can remember, my only friend's been a ghost.”

“Your control's getting better,” he said gently.

“Hardly,” she muttered, sour at the lack of progress. “It's just—I'm not _good_ at having these abilities, and there's no way to get rid of them, is there?”

He shook his head, causing some of the blond strands to fall into his eyes before he brushed them away. “No, there's not,” he confirmed. “But they don't mean you have to shut yourself off from everyone else because you have them.”

Flickers of flames echoed in her head, and she whispered, “You don't know that.”

“I don't,” Adrien agreed, and she almost jumped from surprise as she felt the sofa shift as he'd moved across to sit beside her. “I'm just offering to actually be your friend, that's all.” The words were accompanied by a soft smile that reached his eyes, not at all looking like the forced ones he used to have when they first met.

She didn't look away him from, though. There was a lot she wanted to say, to try and describe her feelings correctly, but she settled with saying quietly, “I think you might already be.”

The surprise showed on his face before it was hidden by his smile growing larger as he mused, “I must be a good teacher if you actually like me, them.”

His ability to talk to anyone included her in that category, too, apparently. Although he had good intentions, Adrien didn't seem to register boundaries straight away, and often blurted out his thoughts without thinking them through first more often than not. It led to a few awkward moments between them, where they just stared at each other before he realised and quickly apologised.

The strangest was whenever he accidentally slipped up and mentioned her parents in passing a good two months into their arrangement.

“Oh, fuck,” Adrien said, immediately backtracking with the guilty clear on his face. “I didn't mean—I'm sorry, I forgot.”

She looked at him in confusion. “It's fine, really.”

“It was insensitive,” he insisted, touching the nape of his neck. It was a nervous gesture that she'd slowly started to recognise, along with his fiddling with his hair. “I just—I wanted to say that I know what it's like to have no family left.”

It was the most he'd mentioned them other than saying his mother had passed away before. There was obvious grief in his expression, the softness of his voice not giving away his emotions completely, but it was a lot more than either she or Chloé had when they spoke about parental figures.

“You're right, that is insensitive,” Marinette replied, fiddling with the sleeve of her t-shirt as she avoided looking at him. “I know that you're probably trying to reach out to me, but it's a bit hard to miss what I don't remember.”

She could see him shifting in his seat from the corner of her eyes. “That's not—”

“You've been trying to insist we're the same since we met, Adrien,” she pointed out with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “You're forgetting that I've had Chloé the whole time. She's taught me everything she could, so I made do—I haven't had anyone I could lose for years.”

Deliberately not glancing up to see his reaction to that, Marinette heard him ask, “Was it hard?”

“Growing up seeing ghosts? Incredibly so when no one believes you,” Marinette said with a humourless laugh. “I used to draw them in class. Two of my foster families made me see a therapist after some were concerned that I was seen talking to the air for too long.”

It wasn't something she would've spoken to him about in the beginning. She hadn't said those words aloud to anyone before, as the only one that had believed her had been present throughout, there to guide her and calm her down before she intentionally tried to control the adults around her. Whenever Alya or Nino had asked her what it was like growing up with her powers, she hadn't been comfortable enough to answer them fully, so she'd just responded with purposely vague responses that left them unsatisfied.

“Wasn't the imaginary friend excuse good enough for them?”

She snorted. “That loses any of the childish charm once I screamed in terror one too many times.”

“I'm sorry that happened to you,” Adrien offered, and she felt a smile tugging on her lips from how sincere he sounded. “And if it helps, I was put into therapy, too.”

“For violent imaginary friends?” she questioned.

He leaned back with a sigh. “Sadly, no. I witnessed my father die and—and that's why the gene triggered for me. It was supposed to help me, but I ended up controlling her too many times, so I felt too guilty to keep going.”

She swallowed. “Do you still feel guilty if you use it unintentionally?”

“Hell, I feel bad if I use it when there's not even a ghost present,” Adrien said with a laugh. “I was taught that it's something sacred, you know? Using it for granted just feels—it feels _gross_ , in a way. It's not natural.”

It was the answer she was expecting, but it still made her frown. “Nothing we can do is natural.”

“True, but we're here for a reason,” he announced, and when he shifted to get comfortable, their knees were touching in the end. “I'm not saying we should dedicate all our time to it, but just getting rid of a few ghosts we come across saves lives in the long run.”

There was no denying that that was supposed to convince her to join him—including her in it by saying we wasn't exactly subtle—but all she could think was that she didn't _want_ the responsibility. Marinette was used to living for herself, her purpose to keep Chloé company and she meandered her way through life while trying to manage her emotions. She didn't have noble goals to make sure that everyone was safe; all she wanted to do was draw as little attention to herself as possible.

She didn't realise that her grip on her sleeve had tightened. A bit surprised, Marinette let go, rubbing her hands on her thighs to calm herself down. “I don't see the point,” she said bluntly.

“What—”

“It's seems pretty pointless to me?” It came out sounding like a question, not as strong as she wanted it to be. “They're able to off each other off anyway, so what's the point of getting in the way? I've lived all these years without even knowing what they could do, so it can't be that bad.”

“But—” Adrien cut himself off, sitting upright and she could tell that he was staring at her face, but she kept her gaze away from him. “They're killing people.”

She shrugged. “And humans kill each other anyway, so why should I do anything?”

“We're given these powers for a reason,” he tried to insist, audibly stumped and at a loss for the right words to say to her. “Marinette, we're supposed to try and protect people.”

It wasn't a convincing argument. “Maybe you were taught to think that way,” she said quietly, turning her hands over to stare at her open palms. “I've mostly experienced unpleasant things because of them. I don't _want_ to use them at all, not even to help others.”

“That's not...” Adrien trailed off, running a hand through his hair with a sigh that he didn't even try to hide. “I know it's not all rainbows and sunshine, okay? I was terrified at first, but I know what to do now. I can help you—”

“Help me?” she repeated with a humourless laugh. “Adrien, your books barely go into detail for the other elements, your family's only consisted of earth for generations. I very much doubt your expertise will transfer over to help me at all.”

Their legs weren't touching any more. “Well, maybe if you actually gave me a chance, we might be able to find out.”

“There's no we,” she reiterated firmly. “I'm not suddenly your sidekick because I accepted your help one thing. I don't owe you anything.”

Their body language was both stiff, and when she turned to the side, she could see how tense he looked. “I thought—I thought we were at least friends now.”

“Friends doesn't have anything to do with this,” Marinette whispered, clenching her hands into fists, aware that her nails were digging into her skin. “You're not entitled to knowing my life because you took pity on me.”

“ _Pity_?” Adrien exclaimed, shocked. “I—what are you talking about?”

She was aware that she was being irrational, reacting emotionally, but it frustrated her that he seemed to think he had to serve a greater power and use his abilities for good. It was a direct contrast to her life; she was selfish, conned strangers for money for a living, and only touched an open flame on a rare occasion where she was locked away in her apartment, far away from others that were able to get harmed.

It was hard to swallow.

She recoiled when he tried to put his hand on her shoulder.

Adrien stared at his hand that was left in the air, shocked at the reaction that it had caused, before it fell down to his side and he looked visibly pained. “I think you're pretty cool,” he offered lamely, but it didn't sound like a complete lie. “I know that you don't like me enough to actually do anything other than just hang out at my house, but I—when I see how you are with Chloé, it's like you're a different person.”

There was no need to say why that was.

“I'm not doing this because I feel sorry for you,” he murmured, barely audible. “You're clearly a bit messed up because of what we are, but I think I'd still like to be your friend if we were normal. You're pretty funny when you're feeling comfortable.”

She didn't know how to take that. Adrien was the first person in years that she'd slowly opened up to, and to have someone else that could look in her eyes without fear was something that she didn't know she was craving for.

But that didn't change what he stood for.

“I'm never going to want to actively cull ghosts,” she said bluntly, fiddling with her fingers as she looked down into her lap instead of seeing his reaction. “Sure, if they try and attack me or go for Chloé, I'll try and do something about it, but I can't confidently say that I'll ever do more than run away.”

He asked softly, “What has you so scared?”

A lot of things. “Have you never thought about what it would be like to have a different element?”

“Of course,” Adrien replied, and she could see from the corner of her eyes that he'd nodded his head along with his words. “I think I got the wrong end of the stick, maybe? I mean, surely, with air you just have to put a gust of wind in their face? That seems so _easy_ compared to trying to keep a rock touching their body somehow, right?”

Her smile didn't reach her eyes. “I guess.”

“It's not like I have any idea what they can even do,” he complained, leaning back with more force than necessary, causing the sofa to shake slightly from the movement. “All I have written down for the others is just a sentence or two of guesswork, nothing to back it up. It's so freaking rare to meet someone else to actually learn anything, and trying to look it up on the internet just leads to fantasy nonsense.”

She couldn't resist pointing out, “It still sounds like nonsense when it describes what you can do.”

“Truthful nonsense,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “I used to ask my mother the strangest questions, hoping that she had all the answers. Sadly, she couldn't tell me whether someone with the water attribute is able to just spit on a ghost and forcefully control where it goes. When I suggested they could carry a little water pistol around, she just laughed at me.”

Tension left her body as she let out a laugh. “That's like asking if you carry around pebbles.”

“...I do if I have pockets,” Adrien admitted, sounding a bit embarrassed. “It's a lot less tiring than messing up the pavement. I always feel really bad after I try and fix it.”

Softly, Marinette accused, “You care too much about everyone.”

“I guess,” Adrien agreed, fetching his cell phone from his pocket when it started to make a noise. It was from Alya, he explained as he looked over the message, and he grinned widely once it was done. “It's her and Nino's anniversary today, I almost forgot.”

“Oh,” was all that escaped her, as she was unsure on what to say.

Adrien wasn't bothered by that. He stood up and started searching through the cupboards before he took out a tablecloth and candles that had been hidden away, setting the dining table without asking for her help. He was a good friend, clearly, as he wasn't putting up a fuss about being asked to prepare something that wasn't for him.

As he put plates and cutlery on the table, Marinette called out, “Are you cooking for them, too?”

“No,” he called back. “They're both coming back with takeaway now. It's a lot less work.”

She scooted all the way to the other side of the sofa when he lit the little candles that he'd taken out of the cupboard, and it became clear that they were scented immediately. Chloé was upstairs, taking advantage of the upstanding offer for the television to be used up there, and her blond-haired friend had barely stayed downstairs long during the lessons after it became clear that Marinette was starting to become comfortable with the residents of the house.

“You haven't mentioned fire.”

“It's a bit self-explanatory, isn't it?” Adrien replied, trying to rearrange the little candles in a pleasing way. “They don't even have to use other ways to make it hurt—I'm pretty sure if the flame was kept on long enough, it would cause the required amount of pain needed to make a ghost disappear.”

She swallowed. “What makes you say that?”

“I can hurt them if I throw a stone with enough power, but that's not an easy feat for me,” he revealed, carefully folding napkins and paying attention to them, rather than looking over to her. “An open flame seems easier to do with—well, unless it harms them, too. That wouldn't be very good.”

Marinette stared at the flames from the candles that were flickering ever-so-slightly. “Rocks can still harm you, can't they?”

“Yeah, of course.” Adrien laughed. “It would be a bit too obvious if they were never able to harm me, right? I— _oh_ , I see what you're trying to say. Damn, I guess it's not as easy as I thought it would be.”

Easy was never a word she'd associated with herself, other than the amount of effort she put into her work. “I'm curious,” she started quietly, pausing to clear her throat, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “Do you cause stones to levitate when you're feeling anxious?”

“No, they're a bit too heavy to do that,” he denied. “I can only do that when I actually concentrate and intend for it to happen. If there's sand touching me, it can happen if I'm emotional. I had to avoid the beach for a few years when I first started out.”

In comparison to her life, that sounded like it qualified for the word easy. With his greatest annoyance being avoiding a crowded place, rather than open flames in classrooms, kitchens, and the little candles that were on tables in restaurants, it made her feel queasy from thinking about how much she'd missed out on.

As her stomach churned uncomfortably, Adrien continued on, “It's a bit of a hassle to actually have to punch someone, you know? I—wait, you don't know, so you'll just have to take my word for it.”

She wrapped her arms around her herself, staring down at her knees as her eyes started to grow dry. There was no Chloé to distract her, and Adrien was too preoccupied with his task to realise that his words were having a negative effect on her.

“In theory, fire really does seem like the easiest. Flames don't really have a weight to them, do they? I guess it could be a bit difficult to control all the different sizes, but if I can levitate a rock if I put my mind to it, just about anything is possible,” he mused, and she could hear his footsteps on the floorboards as he walked around the room.

Trying to calm down, Marinette attempted to change her thoughts, to block out his words while focusing on herself, but it was proving to be difficult when Adrien tossed her jacket over to land beside her on the sofa, indicating that they should leave before Alya and Nino returned, so they could give them privacy.

“You—” Marinette choked out, exhaling loudly as she ran a hand through her hair and stood up, pushing the bangs aside to look at him clearly. “You have no idea what you're talking about.”

She could feel the way her heart beat heavy and fast in her chest, how her face felt cold, and the moisture that had built up in her eyes, threatening to spill over. The sudden blurriness of her vision couldn't hide the shift of his expression; the parted lips with no sound escaping he gaped at her.

It had just built up. The lingering resentment, the jealousy of the differences of their lives, and the way Adrien was able to face the day with optimism, whereas she could barely find the motivation to get out of bed in the morning to take care of herself. It had always been there, lurking and reminding her when she left the lessons, when she felt just a little bit proud of herself, that all of it seemed to be nothing in comparison to him.

He was everything she could've been. There was nothing honest about her lifestyle, and she had no bright smile that she was able to put on for any situation. Marinette clammed up and was awkward was almost everyone, even still around Adrien and his friends after spending months with them. It was no wonder that she she felt little compared to him, when she had his accomplishments shoved in her face every time that they met.

It was bitter and immature, but she was too furious to try and calm herself down. The way his words had hurt—the lack of understanding that had been in them—they had hurt too much, and Chloé still hadn't caught onto their argument, not appearing to help tame her stubbornness that was rearing its ugly head.

“You're ridiculous,” she accused, voice no stronger than it was before as she took a step forward. “It's your choice to act noble and have to use your abilities. No one's forcing you, Adrien. You're not some chosen one that _has_ to follow instructions.”

“Marinette—”

Her footsteps were audible as she crossed the room, decreasing the distance between them. “No,” she cut him off, her pronunciation harsh. “You may have been taught to think that way, but this isn't anything good—this isn't a blessing.”

His hands gripped the table as his brow was furrowed, facial features twisted in apprehensive, clearly wondering where her change in emotions had appeared from. “What are you trying to say?” Adrien asked quietly.

The heaviness within her chest didn't leave.

When she stopped in front of the table, the flames started to flicker from her closeness, responding to her emotions, but she was the only that noticed. Adrien didn't know to pay attention to fire, to worry and try and put distance between her and the source. He was blissfully unaware of the possibilities, too wrapped up in his own minimal dilemma of sand to possibly think about what could happen with the other elements.

The twisted feeling of jealousy and resentment just kept building, festering.

“This,” Marinette started, pushing up the sleeves of her shirt, “what we are, it's a fucking curse.”

He just looked bewildered.

It aggravated her more. “You're fucking naïve and sheltered if you think controlling someone is the worst thing we can do.”

The confusion was clear in his green-coloured eyes. “I don't—I don't understand where this is coming from,” escaped him softly.

It wasn't the right thing to say. She was sure her emotions were clear to see as she reached out towards the nearest candle, her hand hovering a few centimetres above the flame.

She should've flinched, recoiled from the heat, and Adrien had the same though as he tried to push her hand aside by grasping onto her wrist. Before he could get a good grip, she lowered her hand, staring intently at the flame as it caressed her skin before transferring onto her open palm gracefully, a feat that would've been much more violent and uncontrolled when she was younger.

With a shocked noise, Adrien moved away from her, jostling the table in the process. “Marinette—”

“Does this look easy to you?” she whispered, taking her gaze away from the flame as she stared at him, her face as stiff as her voice had sounded. “Did your imagination do it justice?”

It was flickering dangerously, the light surely brightening her up, making it easier to see the harsh set of her jaw and the closed-off expression. It was just as unfriendly as when they'd first met, but she—she didn't feel panicked as she did back then, not terrified of what could happen when faced with the unknown. She'd learned since then, come to know him and his faults, including his way of thinking.

He didn't reply.

There was a lump in her throat that wouldn't go away, and the constant beating of her heart, that was fuelled by adrenaline, was almost deafening. Her stomach felt tight, unnatural and uncomfortable, and yet, all she could think of was recalling Adrien's previous words.

The lack of understanding on his part made her feel slighted. She'd opened up to him, _trusted_ him, the first person in years to make their way past her barriers, but she couldn't see it as anything other than a betrayal. It was worse than the playground taunts of her strangeness that had felt life ending at the time, more awful than the first time she'd taken away from her first foster family.

She mirrored the step he took in her direction, moving backwards to try and keep the distance between them.

“Do you want to know what my version of sand is, Adrien?” she whispered, voice almost devoid of emotion as she backed away further, walking until her back was against the glass door that led outside.

He'd walked halfway across the room. “I—” Adrien cut himself off, visibly struggling for words as he stared at her, wide-eyed.

Feeling her knees growing weak, instead of fighting it, Marinette carefully held her hand out in front of as she sat down on the floor, the coldness of the floorboards able to be felt through her clothing.

Closing her eyes, just feeling the warmth on her hand, she heard Adrien enquire, “Did I say something wrong?”

It didn't matter that his voice cracked, showing his emotions. It wasn't the right thing to say, not something that would calm her down and get her stubbornness to stop; rather, her anger flared at the insinuation that he didn't _know_ what he'd done wrong, despite the fact that she seemed to be a mess in front of him from his words.

It left a sour taste in her mouth.

She opened her eyes and stared up at him, her aggressive body language and expression hard to miss, and she felt a bit of pride from seeing how he faltered when he took a step forward, deciding not to approach her any more.

“I'm sorry, okay?” he tried to say. “I didn't—I didn't mean anything I said.”

It sounded insincere.

The fire in her hands flickered, and she was able to see how his eyes focused on it, clearly a bit scared by the way that it wasn't harming her, something that he'd theorised wouldn't work.

In a burst of emotion, the flame grew as she willed it to, roaring and moving dangerously, caressing her face as it reached an impressive height, one that wouldn't leave marks on the walls near her. It wasn't large enough to reach the ceiling, something that she'd caused one too many times in the past, but she wasn't confident in her ability to keep it under control.

She just wanted him to understand that his abilities were tame in comparison.

Adrien stared, stricken, as the flames caught onto the one part of her shirt, the burning smell becoming apparent quickly, and she used her free hand to pat the area where the flame had been, making it disappear in a matter of seconds.

“That's...” Adrien trailed off, surprise completely taking over his expression as he watched her actions. “That's so _cool_.”

Maybe it was the awe that was in his voice, or the way his widened eyes were staring solely at the flame as though it was the most wonderful thing he'd seen in a long time, but the words made the breath leave her lungs as though she'd been punched. Her control wavered, the flame reacted to her wavering emotions, and the way he took a step forward towards her was the last straw.

The fire roared.

It happened in a matter of moments. There was shouting, and she couldn't tell whether it was coming from her and him, and the stench of smoke was filling the room, along with the tell-tale sound of the fire alarm going off. Marinette's hands felt sore from her frantic slapping as she tried to quell to fire, to control it, but by the time she'd managed to make it disappear, Adrien had dropped down on his knees beside her, looking down at the ashes of the plants that had once been there.

The atmosphere was tense.

“Get out,” he whispered, staring down with tear-filled eyes at the empty pots and the scorch marks that marred the small area of the living room.

She didn't need to be told twice.

When Chloé caught up with her outside, Marinette couldn't bear to see the concern on her friend's face.

-x-

Apologising wasn't a skill she'd developed.

Marinette had waited a few days per Chloé's advice, listening and letting the two of them calm down before she attempted to contact him, and from the way that Nino hadn't messaged her either, she had to assume that he was thinking the same thing.

Too much of a coward to try and apologise in person, since the thought of seeing him had her throwing up in the toilet the day after the incident, Marinette had taken a week to pluck up the courage to try and call him.

Adrien had blocked her number.

“What—what am I supposed to do now?” she asked Chloé, her voice wobbling from the building emotions. It was a feeling she hadn't felt for years; the only person she fought with was constantly around her, and they were mature enough to admit that they were both at fault, and know what had set each other off in the first place.

Adrien wasn't any of that. He'd been a newcomer, someone that had approached her with sincerity that she'd doubted in the beginning, and she'd thrown all of that in his face. She'd _burnt_ part of his home, the little plants that always caused water droplets to be visible on the floorboards, and she was pretty sure that she'd ruined some curtains in the confusion.

“I don't know,” Chloé answered truthfully, then she brushed some of the hair away from Marinette's face, using her limited energy for such a comforting act. “It's his loss if he's idiotic enough not to talk to you again.”

There was a lump in her throat. “I destroyed a part of his home.”

“It wasn't _that_ bad—”

“I made him cry,” she whispered, pressing her palms harshly into her eyes until black spots danced across her vision when she opened them again. “I—he didn't deserve that.”

So, she did what she did best.

She ignored everyone but Chloé.

-x-

She relaxed in her apartment when snow started to fall outside, cuddling up in a blanket that Chloé was endlessly jealous of, and started to take more jobs than she had before, as the amount of time she had free had increased. The money piled up, the cash-in-hand technique meaning that she had a little box that she kept everything in, and although she didn't live in the best area, there wasn't much worry of being robbed when she spent most of her time at home as it was.

Although she rejected the offer to celebrate the holiday with the Kubdels (a invitation that came from Alix only, who constantly said it was on behalf of the whole family, despite the fact Marinette hadn't spoken to them in years), she did reach out to her a month or so later to meet up for coffee.

It was a small café that they met in, and while the conversation was a bit awkward, Chloé had sat beside her the whole time, encouraging her with little smiles and pointed looks when the talking lapsed from Marinette not responding properly.

Marinette was able to look into Alix's eyes a lot more than usual when she spoke, and it was a mixture of pride and guilt she felt when she had physical proof that she was improving with her powers. Since her friendship had ended with Adrien, and therefore the lessons had ceased to be, it took a couple of weeks before she tentatively tested out her control by conversing with employees of shops she visited, particularly the ones that she picked up food from.

When Alix mentioned that there was an upcoming party that she was invited to, and that it wouldn't be a problem if she wanted to come, she had to quietly say, “I'd rather just spend time with you, instead seeing your friends.”

The smile it received hadn't been the reaction she was expecting.

She started to reply to Alix's messages a lot more, and when she noticed the increase of emojis and slang that was introduced in them, there was that nagging feeling of guilt again. She hadn't typed like that before; she hadn't had a reason to, not really, other than to set up a meeting place with customers that preferred to text rather than call to arrange a setting.

It was a little awkward at first, but the friendship was one that she wouldn't have been able to have years ago. Alix didn't seem put off by how late it was, nor did she question what brought up Marinette's sudden replies, which meant it was a mellow friendship that didn't have any drama in it, not really. She learned about Alix's day, and she gave a bit of hers back, never quite telling her job outright.

The first time she found herself face-to-face with a ghost without Chloé ended up with her running off in the opposite direction, as quick as her legs could take her, a throbbing in her side from where it had tripped her and caused her to crash into a rubbish bin.

It hadn't responded like a normal human. Well, that made sense as they were _dead_ , but when Marinette had tried to talk to them, to understand why they'd done that at all, it had only stared at her. In the past, some she'd encountered had screamed, the words unable to be made out as she'd been too busy shivering and wondering whether she was mad.

Adrien's point that it would reduce murders didn't make her want to seek out every ghost she saw in passing and vanquish them. There was no feeling of responsibility there; they seemed to be just spiteful spirits that wandered around, clearly not an epidemic, as death rates weren't something she had to be concerned about.

Still, it didn't stop her from being curious whether her flame would cause for it to disappear without putting any more effort into the encounter. Adrien had explained that despite the force he put into his attacks, ghosts wouldn't grow bruised or damaged, no matter what he did—but he was another matter, meaning his knuckles were bruised at times, taking as long as anyone else to heal.

She took to lighting her little candles with a renewed determination after that. Whether it was for curiosity sake, or because she wanted to be able to fend off any ghosts that lived within the area, just to make sure that Chloé was safe, she wasn't sure.

It didn't help that she had no idea what the signs would be of Chloé withering away in the first place. Surely, she was strong, otherwise she would've disappeared in the first couple of years back when Marinette was too young to do anything about it, but that didn't seem to be the case.

Her question was answered a week later.

A resident in the building beside hers had died the previous night from a robbery gone wrong. She heard about the news from gossiping neighbours when she walked through the halls, and she reluctantly agreed with Chloé that it was a good idea to check whether the one who'd caused the death had regretted it enough for a ghost to appear or not.

Getting into the building was easy. The lack of security was the same of hers, though she'd made sure to install more locks on her front door since moving in in the beginning. The hard part, however, was wondering whether each person she passed was a ghost or not. Chloé stayed beside her as they walked through the different floors, but it was a shame that neither of them were able to tell in an instant whether someone was dead or living.

The question was answered when she saw someone walk through a figure that was just sat on the ground, their back against the wall as they stared at the floor.

As it was their first assassination job, as Chloé fondly referred to it as, Chloé chose that moment to follow someone else outside as a precaution, since they both dreaded the thought of fire getting too close to her, if it went out on control.

The faith her friend had in her potentially burning down the building was justified.

Despite knowing that any footage caught of her would be distorted, Marinette checked for cameras in the hallway first, before remembering just how awful the security had been in the first place. She hadn't had to input a code or anything to get through the front door, which was much the same with her own home.

Taking out the lighter she'd stashed in her pocket, she stared down at it, her lips curled into a frown. It wasn't an item that she'd ever thought she'd willingly carry around, but it seemed that time was able to change some things in the long run.

The most disturbing part of the encounter was that they didn't react to her presence. Marinette crouched down in front of them, careful not to touch, and waited to see whether they'd acknowledge her existence somehow. And, when they didn't, she took it as a sign to go forward with her plans.

She tried to convince herself that it wouldn't be too hard, as Adrien had been able to do it for years with his moral values, so it couldn't have been too traumatising.

With the flame coaxed into her hand, not singing her clothing in the process, she reached out to hold onto their hand with a tight grip. A few noises escaped them, the pained ones that she'd heard replicated back in the alley, and then they started to flail to try and get away, but as their voice grew quieter as the exposure continued, their efforts to get away lessened.

It wasn't what she was expecting at all.

There was no screaming, no smell of burnt flesh, or visible wounds from the flames. Nothing was signed, their clothing not changing from the flame that was pressed right against them, and the uninjured skin stayed the same. Instead of the dramatic murder that she'd worried about, the ghost was there one moment, and in the next, within a blink, she was holding onto thin air.

She stared down at the flame in her hand with wonder for the first time in years.

“You don't look traumatised,” Chloé said as her greeting when Marinette wandered outside. “Did you let them get away?”

She snorted, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Do you think that little of me?”

“Well, when you're that height—”

“Oh, shut it,” Marinette snapped, a fond smile tugging on her lips. “It was kind of—I don't know. Anticlimactic, maybe? I expected something worthy of a horror film from everything we've been told.”

Intrigue was clear in her voice as she asked, “Are you sure your appetite for murder just hasn't appeared?”

Marinette let out a laugh. “They didn't even scream of anything. It felt like I was handling a toddler that just flickered out of existence at the worst part so a scene could stay child-friendly.”

“Since when has anyone trusted you with a baby?” Chloé couldn't resist replying. “Are you sure they didn't feel pain or anything? I definitely felt enough to get the fuck away from you before.”

It was one of the most docile ghosts that she'd seen for years, though the screaming ones that had traumatised her as a child hadn't been frequent. Perhaps, it had happened because she'd tried to talk to them, and then recoiled in fear whenever her hand had passed through their bodies. “It was like they didn't realise I was there until I touched them.”

Chloé hummed. “That sounds weird.

“It was,” Marinette agreed, perplexed. “I just—I thought they'd be more aware like you? I've heard better pained noises from animals than what I just heard.”

Rather than giving her a serious reply, Chloé exclaimed, “You can't just rate their dying noises, Mari.”

She grinned. “Fucking watch me.”

-x-

The lighter slowly became a part of her usual outfit, stuffed into her pocket and within reaching distance. In the evenings, Marinette played with the fire in her hands, trying to make herself associate it with more than horror and terror, trying to find the minute feeling of awe she'd had the first time the ghost had disappeared. There'd been a bit of a rush after that, pride from the fact that she'd managed to do it at all, and how easy it had been for her.

Alas, that also reminded her to how unfair she'd been to Adrien about it. In the end, he was completely right about fire being the easiest of their two elements, though she didn't know what to do with that information.

Sometimes, she tried to ring his number to see whether she'd been unblocked, when Chloé was off, preoccupied with something else so she wasn't keeping her company, but it always ended the same way. Marinette threw the phone away from her with a sigh, not knowing what to do with herself.

Nino hadn't reached out to her since the fight, but there was no reason for him to be, as he was Adrien's best friend, and Alya had never quite made it into her contact list in the first place.

Still, it was strange adapting to life once the three of them were out of hers, when they'd been so insistent of welcoming her unconditionally, inviting her in to spend time with them, even if it was to just laze around their home and do nothing after her lessons with Adrien.

Marinette had stubbornly stayed away from that area. It was clear enough that they didn't want to talk to her, and she didn't want to experience that in person, too.

The second ghost that she vanquished was a coincidence. Marinette had just finished a deal, tucking the notes into her jacket as she pulled it closer around her due to the cold, and she was witness to see a spirit tripping someone over.

There was no stereotypical maniacal laughter after the act. The ghost continued on down the street as if nothing had happened, no physical reaction to earning more energy due to their deed.

It was curiosity, really, that had her following it down an alleyway, igniting the fire in her hand with the little lighter that she'd stashed on her person beforehand, and it was with disappointment that she met back up with Chloé who was watching from the other end of the alley.

She only had to tell one person to leave and forget what they saw.

The ghost hadn't been much more coherent than the last, but they were muttering words underneath their breath, not quite paying attention to her before they flickered from existence suddenly, gone.

“You must be the weird one,” Marinette mused as they made their way home, tucking her hand behind her ear. “I mean, it's already strange that you're still here after so many years, but I can't be the only reason for that.”

Chloé shrugged. “As long as you don't try and take on another ghost as a pet, I'm happy with any bullshit explanation you want to use.”

Her lips twitched from trying not to laugh. “You just called yourself a pet.”

“Bitch, if anything, you're the pet in this scenario,” Chloé shot back, no venom to her words. “Just who raised who here, Marinette?”

“I'm older than you.”

She scowled. “You're ungrateful.”

Marinette grinned. “I love you, too, mother.”

She didn't seek ghosts out after that. They avoided her when she was Chloé, and whether it was a natural instinct for them not to confront each other, she wasn't sure, but she was fine with it. There was no greater purpose to her life, and that was the way she wanted it to be.

With the increase of her ability to not control people—something that had taken her far too many years—and her gradual acceptance of fire once she'd accepted that it wasn't all bad, the days passed easily. She bought the new television that Chloé had wanted all those months ago, splurging on a new kettle for herself, and even bought too many plants from a gardening centre when she saw a sale.

The money she earned from her job meant that she had to pay for almost everything with cash, but it wasn't a problem in most places.

When Alix had seen the thickness of her wallet when she'd gotten it out to pay for the two of them one day, it earned two raised eyebrows.

Marinette fell back into a pattern, one where she could laze around in her home without having many obligations to get to. While it started to become tedious to get out of bed in the mornings again, something that she hadn't realised had really changed until she was back to her old ways, she had to wonder whether it was all she was going to do with her life for the upcoming years.

She was twenty-two, had barely any job experience, and made a living being a fake drug dealer. It wasn't how she'd imagined her life to be, but at least she was able to laugh freely when she spent time with Chloé, truly happy that someone was in her life without the threat of them leaving.

Well, that wasn't true. Since finding out that it was actually possible for Chloé to disappear without the two of them even realise that it was happening, she checked the news for local deaths more often than not, trying to see whether any of them were close to her area.

Most of the ones that were reported were important figures in one way or another, barely ever giving names or anything beyond vague causes of death, so it was hard to find out whether it had been a murder or not.

Marinette had arrived at the supermarket parking lot aerly to meet a customer, leaning against a wall and idly replying to a message from Alix as she waited for her client to appear.

She pocketed her phone when they appeared, and made sure to accept the money first.

“You'll tell your friends all about how fresh my product is, but by the time you meet them, you'll have finished all of it,” she commanded, tucking her hair behind her ear as she stared straight into their eyes. “As always, you really loved it.”

The glazed look that appeared didn't stir a single bit of guilt within her.

It was as they'd turned away, leaving as she kneeled down to tie one of her shoelaces again that she heard footsteps beside her.

“I can't believe you,” was the opening sentence, and she looked up in shock when she recognised the voice.

It had been four months since the last time she'd seen him, and Adrien had cut his hair a bit shorter in that time, so it was brushing against the top of his eyebrows, allowing her to clearly see the harsh set as he frowned down at her in disapproval.

She made a point to finishing tying her shoelace before she stood up to face him. “Hello,” she started cautiously, not knowing where they stood with each other.

From the way his feature darkened further, it wasn't good. “You—I gave you so many chances, you know?” he said quietly, his voice breaking in the beginning.

There wasn't any other way to describe his expression other than betrayal—there was no point lying to herself and trying to see something different there. It was such a look that hadn't been directed at her for months, the only time being when she'd messed up and caused him to cry at the damage that she'd caused.

Any words that she'd been thinking of saying in reply died in her throat, causing a lump that wouldn't go away when she swallowed nervously. She could feel the way her heartbeat had increased from nervousness, along with how their height difference seemed all the more pronounced when he wasn't looking at her with any kind of positivity.

As much as she wanted to apologise, to say that she was sorry for what had happened, she couldn't make the words come out.

He had shopping bags clenched tightly in his hands, meaning he'd wandered from the store in search for his vehicle, and accidentally came across her drug deal. Usually, she'd tell someone to forget what they saw—but he was an exception.

He always was, it seemed.

“I saw you take the money.”

There was no point denying it. “Yes.”

The accusation was clear in his voice as he asked, “Is this why you never told me your job?”

There was no fondness in it whatsoever, and the way he was looking at her made her feel small, insignificant.

“I have to make a living somehow,” Marinette replied, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “Tricking people into buying nothing from me and thinking it's drugs isn't so hard in the long run.”

“I—” Adrien cut himself off, looking frustrated as he adjusted his grip on the bags. “I can't believe I _liked_ you. You're absolutely awful.”

As always, he had a knack for being right about most things. “Sure,” she agreed, a humourless smile appearing. “But what gives you the right to judge me?”

His lips curled down into a frown.

“I didn't mean for it to get so out of hand that day,” Marinette started, surprised by how strong her voice sounded. “It—it was never my intention to actually cause any harm. I was just overwhelmed.”

He just stared at her in distaste.

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “I'm grateful for everything you did, but you're too...good to understand me, I think.”

“I don't want to understand you,” Adrien confessed softly, barely audible. “I don't want to see you again. You—what you _destroyed_ can't be replaced, and you don't even care.”

That was fair, really. She was terrible at apologising, and she was sure that the words had came out more aggressive than she'd wanted, and by the time he'd turned away and started walking towards his car, she didn't have any motivation to try and fix things again.

She didn't tell Chloé about it until they were home, and her hands had stopped shaking.

-x-

She didn't think anything of it when Chloé went out for the day. It happened sometimes, rarely, when Chloé grew too tired of their surroundings, and wanted to wander for herself. Marinette just opened a window near the back where she'd be able to hear Chloé yell if she wanted to be let inside again, and went about her day normally, lounging in bed and idly looking through different pages on her phone.

It was Chloé's expression when she came home in the evening that clued her in that something had happened.

“What?” Marinette questioned, looking at her curiously. “You look like you've done something bad again.”

“I'm capable of feeling regret, despite your belief that I'm a poltergeist.” Chloé sniffed. “I might've... well, I found out where Adrien works.”

That hadn't been what she was expecting at all. “At a ballet studio, I bet.”

“It has pink walls.”

“And how do you know this?” Marinette queried, crossing her arms.

Chloé fiddled with her hair as she looked anywhere but at her, refusing to meet her eyes. “I followed him.”

She stared. “He drives and you can't run fast enough to keep up with a car.”

“That's because he invited me in when he saw me outside his house,” Chloé explained, tugging her t-shirt down a little, but it did nothing to hide her underwear that was always on show. “There's a chance that I might've shouted at him.”

That sounded very plausible. “Okay?” Marinette tilted her head to the side, trying to understand why Chloé felt the need to confess to this at all. “You don't have to tell me everything you do, Chloé.”

“I also pushed him over when his students had finally left,” Chloé blurted. “He's an asshole. How dare he—he just _smiled_ while you're here like this—”

Her hands fell down to her sides, surprise clear on her expression. “Eh?”

“Look, we both know I'm terrible at not being a bitch when I'm mad,” Chloé said frankly, sitting down beside her on the sofa with enough force that it would've caused Marinette to jostle if she was able to interact with her surroundings all the time. “Also, I might've made him cry.”

She stilled. “I—pardon?”

“I said a lot of things,” Chloé said vaguely, waving her hand dismissively. “The end result is that he basically swore that he'd smite me if he ever sees me again, and I'm pretty sure he hates you, too.”

It shouldn't have been news, but it still hurt. “Your temper's as bad as mine.”

“I don't cause things to burn with mine, thankfully.” She sniffed. “And, by the way, the plants you burnt? They were from his dead mother, so that's why we're on his shit-list.”

Putting her face in her hands with a sigh, Marinette murmured, “So, what? We're like enemies now?”

“He kind of did promise to kill me on sight.”

The following week, Chloé pushed her luck to see whether he was serious. She came home a bit wide-eyed, revealing that Adrien threw a rock towards her when he found her waiting outside of his home.

Marinette dreaded to think of what he'd do if she was there instead.

It was a bit weird, really. She'd never cared much if people disliked her before; she hadn't been attached to them, didn't bother herself with their opinions and went about her life, but Adrien had been someone that she cared about—she still did, even though their last interactions hadn't ended well.

At least he wasn't following through with getting rid of Chloé. He'd had his chance, twice, to just get rid of her, but Chloé had returned just fine each time, though she was more worked up than before.

The first time she saw Alya was a surprise.

Spending more time with Alix meant that, eventually, some of Alix's friends were going to recognise her and approach them in public. The first time it happened, Marinette sat there awkwardly as Alix conversed with her friend, after introducing the two of them and watching as Marinette shrunk back into the chair and actively tried not to participate in the conversation.

It only got worse when Alya appeared, holding two cups of coffee in her hand as she wandered over to the friend that Alix was talking to, not noticing her presence immediately.

When their eyes met, she felt sick.

It was made worse when Alya just smiled at her politely before looking away to talk to her friend, not greeting her or trying to talk to her at all.

The second time was just as awkward, and it was when Marinette was carrying her groceries home. She walked past Alya outside the supermarket, bumping into her accidentally before she looked up and recognised her, and she received the same polite smile that was almost grating to see.

Marinette didn't try to stop her to talk or try and offer her apologies, instead taking the hint and walking off in her original direction with an increased grip on her bags.

It was fine. She had Chloé, and that had always been enough for her. A few months with people that seemed to understand her, to some degree, wasn't enough to change all the years that they'd spent together, nor what it meant to her.

She just missed them, that was all.

When she next saw Adrien, it was a few weeks later, and a complete surprise.

It wasn't a welcome one, though.

“Forget about this and just go home,” he interrupted, coming between her and her client before she could even register what was happened. “And never contact her again.”

Although she could've reached out and cancelled it, Marinette waited for her customer to recover and walk off, putting her hands in her pockets as she kept quiet until Adrien turned to face her.

At the disapproval that was clear on his expression—he looked like he was almost physically in pain from even looking at her at that moment—Marinette raised her eyebrows. “You do know he's already paid me, right?”

“Fuck.”

There was no compliment conversation, no standard asking how she was, but she should've expected that from the beginning. From how tense he looked, from the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his eyebrows, it was startling apparent that he didn't want to talk to her.

But she couldn't resist, “Are you trying to sabotage my job?”

Adrien didn't bother replying to her. He stalked off in the opposite direction that he'd came, and she watched in a mixture of irritation and amusement as he absolutely refused to look back at her.

She didn't know whether it came across as childish or petty, but it was clear that he was still displeased with her method for living. But it was her lifestyle; she was sure others with their abilities had used them for worse, and it wasn't as though she was causing anyone's death due to it. She was just taking some of their money, that was all.

Chloé laughed until she unattractively snorted when Marinette filled her in on what had happened when she was keeping watch.

“I don't know what to do about him,” Marinette said lamely after her explanation. “I—I clearly messed up, but if he really hated me, he wouldn't have approached me at all.”

“I'm not volunteering for another spy mission.”

She threw her hands up in exasperation. “I never asked you to go in the first place!”

After they'd fallen into silence after laughing together, Chloé said, “I won't be mad if you want to try and be his friend again.”

It was a bit more than that. “I could say the same to you,” Marinette quietly replied. “You don't need to go and defend my honour when I'm the one that messed up in the first place.”

“Not really,” Chloé denied. “He shouldn't have been so against using your abilities for anything but what he'd been told in the first place. I mean, what you two are, it's clearly something you should be able to use to your advantage. What's the point of mind powers if you don't get your way once in a while?”

That caused a smile to appear. “I think that's the reason why you never inherited them.”

“Who knows?” Chloé shrugged. “If I was still alive, I'd be in, like, my early thirties now. Can you even imagine me with wrinkles, Marinette? Because that's something I only see in my nightmares.”

“...You don't sleep, so you can't dream, Chloé.”

A scathing look was sent her way. “Well, I'm not going to call them daymares now, am I?”

“You're terrible,” she accused without any venom. “Why do I even put up with you?”

Chloé raised her eyebrows. “Because I'm your lookout while you conduct your shady drug deals? If that's not the qualification for being your best friend, then I don't know what else could possibly be.”

-x-

The only death that was widely covered in the news was that of a hotel owner that had died from a heart attack. It had been shown throughout the week, the main one that popped up, but since it wasn't anywhere near her, Marinette didn't really care about it.

It wasn't until pictures of him and his deceased family were shown on different articles, stating that he was to be buried beside their graves, that she stared in confusion at the screen. There—there was a strikingly familiar picture beside him, stating it was his daughter that had a few years after his wife had, leaving him alone to manage the hotels until his heart gave out.

But it couldn't have been true.

Marinette had researched for deaths, trying to figure out Chloé's identity for years with no success. There was no chance that it would appear after years of having given up, but—

There was no mistaking the face that was staring at her; the long golden hair, the icy blue-coloured eyes, and the sharp jawline that came from having a figure that she was immensely proud of at that age.

The difference was that she was dressed in the picture, smiling brightly at the camera as she held the hat upon her head, making sure it wouldn't disappear due to the wind.

She felt sick.

Chloé was across the room from her, legs pulled up onto the couch as she watched television, and just seeing her face from the side was confirmation enough. The picture must've been taken from a few months before the accident for her to have looked so similar.

It was everything they'd been looking for and more. Before calling out and getting Chloé's attention, she typed in the name to try and find out more about her life first.

Chloé Bourgeois suited her. She'd really gotten her first name right, then, and hadn't just chosen one that she'd liked the sound of, which was surprising in itself.

The search led her to a news article from seventeen years ago, stating that a father and a teenage girl had died in an accident. It hadn't been large back then—Chloé's father hadn't been in control of the most popular hotel in the city—but she was able to find the listed names of the deceased in another article.

The other name was vaguely familiar. She stared down at the screen, trying to recall why it would mean anything to her at all, until she let out a sigh and leaned back further in her seat.

Chloé had died in a fire when she'd stayed over at her friend's house for a sleepover. The father of the family had tried to get her out, but had perished in the flames along with her, leaving the wife and their children (unlisted, no names or genders given), to mourn him.

It was an answer, finally.

When she'd gathered up the courage to cross the room and sit down beside her, Marinette reached out to mute the volume, ignoring the aghast look that it earned her.

“I know how you died,” she said bluntly.

Chloé's expression didn't change. “That's nice. Can you let me finish this episode now?”

“No, I—” Marinette tried to say before she let out a frustrated sigh and reached for her cell phone instead, bringing up the tab with the last article she'd looked at. “Tell me if you want me to scroll down.”

With furrowed brows, Chloé's blue-coloured eyes darted back and forth, ready the information that was given at a moderate pace. It was a little bit later that she requested for Marinette to go lower, and she did so without any protest, not knowing what to say to try and offer some comfort.

When she'd finished, Chloé brushed some stray hairs behind her ear as she looked contemplative.

She didn't look like she was about to sob (without being able to actually produce tears), which Marinette didn't know whether to find reassuring or worrying.

“So,” Chloé started suddenly, and Marinette almost jumped in surprise. “The real question is here whether I'm a raging lesbian or not.”

She choked.

“I'm serious!” Chloé said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Don't give me that look! The gender isn't listed, but I was in my _underwear_. Surely, that means I must've had some sort of romantic interest, right? Though, I might've just been comfortable enough to just sleep in my underwear at someone else's house.”

The laughter that left her wasn't attractive, and it came out more high-pitched than normal. “You—we just found out how you died and you want to know if you're gay?”

“Listen, it's not like I'm actually able to get wet—”

Horrified, Marinette interrupted with a shrill call of, “ _Chloé_!”

“Oh, come on!” Chloe said with a laugh, clearly enjoying her reaction. “Wouldn't you want to know if you were crippled and had amnesia?”

“You're not crippled,” she replied lamely.

Chloé just grinned, showing her white teeth. “I might as well be with how much I'm able to do.”

“You're ridiculous,” she accused, her smile reaching her eyes as she laughed. “But I—I'm sorry we didn't find this out sooner? Your father died this week.”

“Cool,” Chloé said, not batting an eyelash at that announcement. “Are you going to let me finish watching this yet? I might need you to download it and add it to your illegal activities otherwise.”

She stared. “I just said your father is dead.”

“And I hope he had a good life.” Chloé shrugged. “Or not, if he was a bad guy. I don't really care either way.”

“Chloé...”

Why had she expected anything different? If Marinette had learned anything new about her parents, she wouldn't have cared; she didn't remember them because of the age she'd been when they'd died, while Chloé had lived all of her ghostly life without knowing them. As Chloé had adequately put it before, they were past their parental issues, and had learned to rely on each other instead.

But that didn't mean she'd been prepared for such coldness.

“It's not like I remember him or anything?” Chloé pointed out, changing position so her feet were on the floor, no longer comfortable as she could be as she was turned to look at her from the side. “If you showed me a picture of him, I wouldn't recognise it either. I'm not going to mourn someone that I don't actually know.”

Marinette nodded. “You're right,” she agreed quietly. “I just—I don't know, I thought this would be something important.”

“Honestly, I stopped caring about what happened _years_ ago.”

Turning her gaze back to the article, she scrolled up until the name of the family was visible. “Does this seem familiar to you? I think I recognise it, for some reason.”

Chloé squinted at the screen. “Maybe? I've never been any good at remembering shit.”

A little bit of research helped her to find that there was a news reporter with the same surname as the father that had died in the accident. Marinette didn't want to assume, looking on the internet to see a little bit of her life story had claimed that it was her father that had passed away in the accident.

The hard part was trying to find a way to contact her. Marinette looked into different methods, even using her abilities to get into the woman's work building, but that was all too complicated for her to really plan out. So, she went with sending an e-mail instead, claiming that a member of her family was a friend of Chloé's, and that she was trying to find out more about her.

It wasn't a solid excuse—it was quite ridiculous, really, and she was almost tempted to pretend she was writing an essay about Chloé for school to get information—but it did get her a reply that asked her whether her name was her real one.

A strange reply, to say the least.

When Marinette answered that it was, hyphens and all, she received a phone number in return.

She waited until Chloé was busy until she walked into her bedroom, carefully closing the door behind her and dialling the number.

“Hello? Nadja speaking.”

She fumbled with the phone for a bit as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Hi? This is Marinette. You gave me your number—”

“Marinette! Yes, of course,” came the swift reply, and she was a bit stunned from how friendly she seemed. She hadn't watched the news recently to see Nadja in action, but if she was as kind as she sounded on the phone, it was no wonder that her information was public knowledge. “I have to say, it is quite a surprise that you're contacting me after all these years.”

She blinked. “I'm sorry?”

“Am I being too presumptuous?”

It made no sense. “I don't understand what you mean.”

“Oh, I suppose not, I apologise,” Nadjda replied, a small laugh escaping her. “You were probably too young to remember, but you lived with my family for about... two years, I believe, when you were little.”

That was a lot to take in. She'd been with a few foster families, none as long as the Kubdels, but she hadn't actively tried hard to remember them after things hadn't worked out well. But, if Nadja was saying that it was true, then it meant that it had to have been either before Chloé had died, or afterwards, and that was why the ghost had followed her out and attempted to befriend her at all.

Her throat felt tight. “Do you—I mean, do you know how long ago this was?”

“Oh, quite a long time.” Nadja's answer wasn't helpful in the slightest at first. “You were very little, though. I actually have a daughter that's about as tall as you were back then. I think you were maybe five or six towards the end? It's a bit blurry due to everything that was going on back then.”

Chloé had been with her since she was six.

All that she could say was, “Congratulations on your daughter.”

“Thank you,” Nadja said sincerely. “She's quite a handful, but I love her very much.”

It wasn't a conversation she wanted to have. To hear about someone's child wasn't normal for her, and she didn't know how to deal with it, so she blurted out, “Did I know Chloé?”

A quiet laugh came from the other end. “You met her a few times, but she mostly ran from the sight of children.”

She felt sick.

“I haven't really keep in touch with anyone from back then, so I can't say I'm surprised that whoever you're finding this out for doesn't want to talk to me,” Nadja continued softly. “I was a bit of a wreck after the accident. I lost my father and my best friend in one night, so I pushed away anyone that wanted to ask about them.”

Chloé had been alive when they'd met. It had to have been before she was six, before she'd befriended her as a child, and that thought made her raise a hand and hold it against her forehead, taking in a deep breath to try and stay calm.

“I'm sorry you couldn't stay with us after what happened, Marinette.” The words were supposed to be comforting, but they didn't do anything to help her state of mind. “It was terrifying for all of us, but we shouldn't have shut you out either.”

That— _that_ meant—

Stuttering, Marinette asked, “Does that mean I was there?”

A muffled curse came through. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you that if you really don't remember.”

“No, I—” Marinette cut herself off as she took in a deep breath, trying to make it so her voice didn't reveal her emotions. “I'd like to know what happened, please.”

“If you're sure,” Najda replied cautiously, giving her a chance to change her mind. “From what I've been told, you woke up from a nightmare? I was sleeping with Chloé in my room, while my mother took you downstairs to warm you some milk up on the stove.”

A feeling of dread ran through her.

Nadja carried on, unable to feel her anxiety through the phone, “We're not sure whether it was a gas leak or something, but the fire got out of control. My parents took you outside and I managed to get out, but Chloé—she... I think she fell down the stairs while we were running. I—I didn't notice that she wasn't behind me.”

Her vision was growing blurry, heart beating wildly in her chest, and all she could do was stare down at her clenched hand in her lap, barely registered what she was hearing. It—it couldn't have been true, but she'd seen proof that it was. Every word wasn't said to spite her, to cause her to panic and breath in heavily from the news, but it was made worse from her forgetting it.

She was too young to remember, but she'd always been rightfully terrified of her powers due to the fires that had gotten out of control over the years.

Wasn't it perfect that she'd forgotten the most destructive one?

“Marinette?”

She barely heard the call of her name, closing her eyes shut so darkness took over her vision, trying to block out the violent thoughts and the guilt that was nagging at her.

She hung up.

Reaching up and gripping her hair tightly, she didn't know how much time passed before she calmed down. Her lips felt dry, tears dried around her eyes, and she took in a stuttering breath before she wiped her face, feeling tired.

Putting cold water on her face didn't make her feel any better.

She could feel her eyes trickling with tears again, and she stubbornly shut her eyes, holding onto the sink tightly. It wasn't any time to wallow in self-pity, not when she'd found out the truth from what had happened—it couldn't have been just a coincidence, not at all when she was involved.

It explained why Chloé was different from the others. The flames had been influenced, responding to Marinette's distress, meaning Chloé hadn't died of normal means. She had clearly been the stronger one of the two, so the father had been the one to wander around as a spirit, but that just made her take in a shaking breath.

Chloé had sought her out because she swore that Marinette's eyes had followed her when she was little, not because she was around at the time of her death. Chloé hadn't appeared immediately after she'd died, otherwise she would've seen her own corpse, and the reason why she'd died—

She threw up into the toilet, kneeling down on the ground and almost choking on her sobs.

Ghosts were born of regret. Had she even been aware of what had happened back then? She'd only been five or six—time was hard to follow when she could barely remember it—but she'd had to have been aware enough for Chloé to have been born again.

Her throat burned, eyes itched from the constant tears, and she fumbled to get the lighter out of her pocket, throwing it into the toilet with enough force for the water to splash her face.

Once her legs were strong enough to stand up, she washed her face one more time, staring flatly at herself in the mirror before she frowned and glanced down at her hands, not knowing what to do with herself.

She—Chloé _had_ to know. They'd been together for so long, and to know that the reason that had happened at all was because Marinette couldn't control herself was awful.

But when she walked back into the living room to see Chloé lounging across the sofa without a care, laughing at a joke that was played on the television, Marinette barely stuttered out the words that she was leaving before she practically ran out of the front door, locking it behind her.

She heard the loud call of her name, but she still ran away.

There was only one person that would potentially understand what she was going through—to at least know what she was even talking about—and although the route was familiar, it wasn't one that she'd taken in months. When she knocked on the door, the sting of her knuckles indicating that she'd used too much force, she idly realised that there was a chance that he wouldn't be there at all.

It was Adrien that answered the door. She saw the way his expression twisted in distaste at the sight of her, clearly not pleased that she wound up on his doorstep, and all she could do was blink furiously to try and keep the tears at bay.

As he made a move to close the door on her, she reached out and put her hand against it as she blurted, “I killed Chloé.”

That was enough to make him look at her in shock.

-x-

She woke up in an unfamiliar bed.

Marinette rubbed her eyes harshly, hating the way her hair was sticking to her face and her clothes clung to her uncomfortably. There was light coming in through the window, meaning it was past early morning, and she felt weak when she stood up and stretched her arms above her head.

The rumbling of her stomach wasn't quiet.

She slipped on the shoes that were beside the bed without tripping over, then slowly made her way through the house, trying to make as little noise as possible as she went down the stairs.

When she made it near the bottom, she definitely heard her name being mentioned, but they were talking too fast and low for her to understand fully. As much as she longed to just leave, to walk out the front door and wallow by herself, she put on a brave face as she walked into the open room, spotting the three of them in the kitchen, leaning on the counters as they conversed and Nino was cooking at the stove.

The sight of it made her avert her gaze.

“There you are,” Alya spoke up first, drawing attention to her. “We were wondering when you'd be up.”

She didn't know whether that was because they wanted her gone as soon as possible or not. “Thank you for letting me use your bed,” Marinette said quietly, eyes flickering to Adrien before she averted her gaze again, nervous. “I—thank you.”

Adrien said something quietly to his friends before he approached her, jerking his chin towards the sofa to indicate for her to sit down with him. And when she did, daintily sitting on the edge with her hands gripping the end of her shirt, he said, “Are you feeling better?”

As much as she'd expected for him to just turn her away, he hadn't done that. Adrien had invited her inside and listened to her babble, the string of apologies and explanation blending together as she sniffed and cried pathetically in front of him, letting it out while he didn't interrupt.

Of all the things she wanted to say, she settled with, “I'm sorry.”

She kept her gaze away from the backdoor.

“I'm sorry, too,” he offered quietly, running a hand through his hair before he let it fall down to his side. “I just—I overreacted and pushed you away because of it. It wasn't mature of me at all.”

She pursed her lips. “I don't think you were wrong.”

“I was,” Adrien assured her. “It's not like you knew those plants were important to me anyway. You didn't do it to hurt me.”

Whether she meant to hurt him or not back then, she didn't really know. Marinette just remembered being angered and wanting to do something about it, and nothing had gone according to plan—well, not that she'd devised a plan in the first place.

“You don't like me,” she pointed out, remembering their brief encounters. “You've made that clear by blocking my number and then trying to interfere with my job.”

But then he'd contradicted that by letting her take his bed after she'd had another panic attack, letting her sleep it off before talking to him the follow day.

“I was immature,” he reiterated, shooting a look towards the duo in the kitchen before his lips curled down into a frown. “I guess I was a bit... preachy with everything I was saying to you, so I understand why you didn't tell me anything.”

She blinked quickly, trying to dry her eyes. “I didn't come here to have a heart-to-heart with you.”

“No,” he agreed after a moment of silence, nodding his head. “I don't think you can really be blamed for Chloé's death, though. You were, what, five? You were just a kid with newly discovered powers.”

Regardless of whether it was what she wanted to hear or not, Marinette closed her eyes and tried to breathe evenly as her foot starting tapping an inconsistent rhythm. “That's—that's not really true,” she tried to argue. “I was aware enough to regret it.”

“We don't really know how all of this works,” Adrien pointed out, and when she looked and him, the sympathetic gaze had her staring down at her feet instead. “You could've regretted not seeing her again, and it might've worked. I don't really feel like murdering someone to try and research it.”

She rubbed her face with more force than necessary. “What am I supposed to tell her?”

“Everything?” he answered, sounding confused. “You two share everything anyway, so I don't really see this changing your relationship.”

It wasn't like he really knew much. They'd been friends for a few months, practically avoided each other for the same amount afterwards, and it left Marinette feeling awkward and unknowing where they stood. She'd never had a friendship like that before; well, she hadn't really had anyone other than Chloé before, as she'd pushed Alix away for years.

“I'm sorry about your plants,” she repeated, avoiding his gaze.

And she was, truly.

The hand that fell gently onto her shoulder made her jump. She pulled away with wide eyes, surprised that he'd tried it at all, and offered the lame explanation of, “I'm not used to being touched.”

“My bad,” he replied, keeping his hands to himself as he offered her a smile that showed the indents on his cheeks. “I'm sorry for being all judgemental about everything. I have no right to tell you what you can and can't do.”

She squinted. “Are you giving me permission to continue being a drug dealer?”

“Well.” Adrien cleared his throat. “Alya helped me understand that, maybe, I was jumping to conclusions too soon, and that your job's not that bad in the long run.”

Her lips curled into her first smile in a while. “I'm sorry for not telling you before.”

“You don't have to apologise for everything, you know,” he said gently, returning the grin. “Do you—do you want to start over? As friends, I mean.”

She cleared her throat. “I'd like that.”

With the promise to unblock her number, Adrien walked her to the door, telling her that he could call her if she needed to talk to him at any time. And, same as when she'd visited his home one of the first times, Alya and Nino called out their good-byes loudly so they could be heard, and she was hastily wiping at her eyes as she walked away.

The walk home didn't do much for her nerves, but she didn't feel as terrified as before. Her heart was pounding in her chest, yes, and she was thinking of the worst possible scenarios—but, at least, she'd fixed one of the problems that had been around for months.

Chloé wasn't pleased when she came home, shooting her a look of utter loathing. The television was still on the same channel, the volume almost deafening compared to the silence between them, and Marinette reached up to fiddle with her hair on instinct.

“Where'd you disappear to?” Chloé demanded, standing up and crossing the room without any noise, stopping in front of her.

She swallowed. “I... I went to see Adrien.”

“And spent the night?” Chloé questioned, raising her eyebrows. “Did he throw a rock at you when he saw you, at least? It would make me feel a lot better if he did.”

It was such a typical reply from her, along with the way she tossed her hair behind her shoulder, that Marinette had to let out a fond laugh, “No, he didn't,” she admitted, sinking down to crouch on the floor, her arms wrapped around her knees for a sense of stability. “We kind of made up, I think? We're starting over as friends.”

“Well, yes?” Chloé scoffed. “What else would you two be other than friends?”

“...Acquaintances?”

Chloé snorted. “That's not how that works, Mari.”

As nice as it was to laugh, and just talk as though there was nothing wrong, she couldn't ignore the uncomfortable feeling that was in the bottom of her stomach. “I know why you died.”

“A fire, yes,” Chloé said instantly, waving her hand dismissively. “We've been over this before you had your dramatic exit. No need to bring up the past.”

“There really is a need,” Marinette insisted, her voice cracking at the end, causing her to clear her throat as she averted her eyes, all too aware of the curious gaze that was directed her way. “I—you know the surname that seemed familiar to me? I did a bit of research, and I ended up speaking to the daughter of the family, the one who's room you were staying in.”

Chloé crouched down a bit to peer into her face as she asked, “Is this you revealing whether or not she was my girlfriend?”

“I don't know that, sorry,” she said, not able to hold back her weak laugh. “Nadja said you were her best friend, so that's all I know about that. And, no, I don't know whether you were sharing a bed or anything like that.”

“Then what could you possibly have to tell me?”

Cowardly, just went for the first piece of information and softly answered, “I met you a few times when you were alive.”

“Speak up,” Chloé demanded, crossing her legs beside her. “You know it's hard to hear you when you get all nervous and mumble.”

There was a high chance that Chloé's reaction would be just as dismissive as it had been about finding about her dad, but—but it felt important to her. Marinette didn't want to keep the guilt to herself, keeping it away from her friend and not admitting to the truth. “They... Nadja's family were my first foster family, I think. I met you a few times during my stay with them, apparently.”

“Now I'm even more offended by your reaction when you were younger.” She sniffed. “We should've been instant friends instead of you screaming your head off at me.”

“Chloé,” Marinette said with a sigh, closing her eyes. “Just—come on, please? You died in a fire in a house where I was.”

There was a moment of silence, stretching on where the only sound was Marinette's rapidly beating heart echoing in her head, before Chloé asked, “You're not really being this dumb, are you?”

“What?” she spluttered, opening her eyes to gaze incredulously at her friend. “I—this isn't just me _reaching_! I... I asked about the accident, and it was because of me—”

Chloé promptly interrupted her with a harsh, “So?”

“So?” she repeated, scrambling for the right words. “I— _what_ —”

“I really don't give a shit if you killed me, Marinette,” Chloé bluntly proclaimed, adjusting her position so she could stare directly into Marinette's eyes with a frown. “I've almost been dead for as long as I was alive. Do you expect me to throw that away and just start to hate you out of nowhere?”

She blinked furiously, uncomprehending. “But I—”

“Was probably just an annoying kid,” Chloé interjected. “I very much doubt that you murdered me on purpose—or, maybe, you did it because I stole your toy or some shit.”

Chloé just seemed... she was so _calm_ about it. Her emotions weren't coming across as confused, not like Marinette's who's were swapping between being grateful for her friend and verging on the edge of tears from guilt.

She choked out a laugh. “You can't just make a joke about your death.”

“Why not?” Chloé tilted her head to the side, a lopsided grin appearing on her lips. “I've been dead for longer than you've had boobs, I think I'm the one that gets to decide these things.”

Reaching up, she used her sleeve to dab at the tears and wipe her nose unattractively “You're not going to leave me?”

“It's not like you can kill me again,” Chloé exclaimed before she paused, making a sound of realisation that made Marinette snort. “Forget that, you love me too much to smite me.”

“Yeah, I do,” she agreed softly, her smile reaching her eyes as she looked at her friend, and then she had to sniff loudly and ruin the atmosphere. “Think you have enough energy to eat?”

Chloé's expression immediately brightened and her voice grew louder as she replied, “Fuck _yes_.”

-x-

Alya earned a place in her contact list.

“I think your job is fucking hilarious, honestly,” the red-head had said the first time Marinette had visited their home after her minor breakdown about Chloé. Sitting down beside Marinette with enough force to cause the sofa to move backwards a bit, Alya turned to her with a large grin. “They still feel like they get the high, right? They must do, since they come back to you.”

Marinette shot a confused look at Adrien who was trying hard to muffle his laughter. “I guess?” she replied, but it sounded as lost as she felt. “I don't actually know whether it actually compares to actual drugs, but they think they had the same rush, but their bodies aren't damaged because of it.”

“What a safe drug,” she mused before turning her head to glare at Adrien. “And _someone_ thought it was the worst thing in the world.”

It was understandable, really. “I get it,” Marinette agreed softly, offering Adrien a smile when he looked at her in surprise. “It's an abuse of our powers in your eyes, isn't it?”

From his reaction—the way his shoulders hadn't tensed, and he'd just nodded in agreement—it was clear that she'd chosen the words at the end well, as she hadn't wanted to offend him there.

“He's just upright,” Alya exclaimed loudly, shooting her friend another pointed look. “We've been trying to get him to loosen up for years, but he's always been against it.”

For a moment, she wondered why she found Alya intimidating at all. Rather than laughing along with the two of them, Marinette blurted out, “I'm sorry for ruining your anniversary.”

Alya looked at her strangely before it clicked, and she let out a laugh as she shook her head. “No, no, it's fine,” she assured her, but it did nothing to ease the guilt that Marinette was feeling. “Our food order was messed up anyway, it wasn't a big deal.”

It sounded as though she was saying that to just make herself feel better, but Marinette wasn't going to point that out.

“Anyway,” Alya said after she cleared her throat to get their attention again. “This is great, I would've never thought about using your ability to be a fucking drug dealer. Is there any other dumb stuff that you use it for?”

“Alya—” Adrien tried to interject, but he was ignored.

Feeling a bit put on the spot, Marinette grimaced. “I don't really know?” she answered truthfully, running a hand through her hair. “It used to happen accidentally most of the time, so I guess I just... took advantage of it when I needed to.”

“So no controlling someone to pick up a pizza for you?” Nino chimed in as he returned with a hot drink. “Lame.”

She let out a laugh. “No, sorry. I did make someone who annoyed me in school kiss someone else once, though. But that was before I realised that kind of thing was bad.”

They revealed, despite Adrien's protests, that Adrien had been rather flippant when his powers had triggered, and it had resulted in a few strange occurrences in college for them. As Alya and Nino were only clued in on what was happening at least a year after it had awakened, they'd never connected the dots until he let them ask questions.

Their friendship didn't intimate date her as much as it had before. It made her jealous that he had anyone that close to him, but she was able to interact with Alix almost freely in the past months, and Chloé was everything she'd ever wanted in a friend and more.

When they questioned whether she'd used her elemental control to her advantage, she could barely hide her grimace. “No,” Marinette answered quietly. “I—I don't even know how to cook because all the homes I've been in have had gas cookers.”

They didn't ask her why she'd avoided fire, and she was grateful for that.

Adrien started texting her everyday again. The first time it had happened, she'd fumbled with her phone, surprised to see his name pop up, before a large smile appeared as she replied. It wasn't awkward to begin with; they just started talking about random things, topics that didn't matter to them at all, and she was more than happy to respond to them all.

The first show of her opening up was inviting him over to her apartment.

Outside her door, as she fiddled with her keys, knowing that Chloé was inside and covering her hesitance to see Adrien by making rude remarks about him instead, and she'd made up the excuse of not wanting to see him by saying she wanted to watch television instead.

“Please don't throw rocks at her,” Marinette found herself saying as she put the key in.

“I don't have any on me,” Adrien admitted, patting his pocket. “You're welcome to check if you want.” Then, a look of horror appeared on his face, and she was surprised to see redness on his cheeks as he quickly added on, “I—not like _that_.”

She just looked at him strangely. “If you say so.”

While Chloé was surprised to see him at first, she looked smug and haughty after he'd apologised for hurting her when he'd gotten mad before. Marinette had warned him that Chloé was stubborn and refused to apologise a lot, trying to convey that she was sorry by insulting less after an argument instead, and it seemed that he'd remembered that.

“So, this is the cursed cooker,” Adrien mused when he followed her into the kitchen to get a drink. “You've never used one? Not even once?”

“No,” she admitted. “We weren't allowed to in homes, and the families I stayed with never tried to force me to. The lessons is schools were optional, too, which was good. I can't say I was that lucky with the burners in class, though.”

He made a sympathetic noise. “That sounds awful. Nothing really changed for me, well, other than accidentally controlling my class-mates when they bugged me.”

“I didn't use my powers to cheat on tests,” she felt the need to say. “But I did have Chloé going around the room and giving me the most common answers.”

He actually laughed at that, and the sound was breathy and honest, a bit high-pitched. “I never know what to expect from you,” he admitted once he'd calmed down, and his voice was soft, barely audible above the sound of the television.

“The worst, probably,” Marinette replied, a smile of her own appearing. “I just—I really have to thank you for helping me out before, even if I did mess it all up.

“Marinette—”

She swiftly interrupted, asking for him to let her finish. “I'm... able to talk to people a lot more because of you, and I think Alix is my friend now.”

Along with talking to Alix frequently, she'd messaged Nadja again—not trusting herself to call her—and apologised for being so emotional the last time they'd talked. Nadja had extended an invitation for Marinette to visit her and meet her daughter whenever she was next free, and she was considering accepting it.

“You just needed a little help,” Adrien pointed out. “I didn't really do that much; well, other than throw stones at you for motivation.”

She laughed. “Isn't that abusing your powers?”

“You're making me realise that being so anal about it is a waste,” he admitted, reaching up and brushing his blond tresses out of his face. “Might as well have some fun with them, right? I'm still taking the time out of my day to get rid of a ghost if I see one, though.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “About that...”

Adrien looked at her suspiciously. “What?”

“You were kind of right?” It came out too fast to be understood at first, and she repeated herself sheepishly. Then, as she explained that she hadn't had to punch, kick, or anything other than hold the flame against the ghost, Adrien's exasperated expression made her laugh. “Sorry?”

He huffed. “If I want to get rid of one with just my powers, do you know how many hits it takes?”

“No?”

Adrien let out a laugh. “It took over _twenty_ stones last time—and, no, I can't pick up more than one at a time.”

Unlike before, Nino did text her and actively try to befriend her more. Along with their taste in music, they had similar interests in games, and it was because of that that she sometimes found herself messaging him in the evenings when she was just lounging around with Chloé lazily, not wanting to go outside.

Nino was also a wonderful source of information.

“He absolutely refused to be a conman,” he revealed when he brought up when Adrien had first told him about his powers. “I mean, come on, it seemed like the best job for him at the time! Talking to dead people for a fee was the only logical choice.”

She snorted. “You mean, other than ghosts only appearing due to very circumstantial deaths, and having amnesia even if they do make it through to be a spirit?”

“Listen, at the time, I thought it would be a goldmine for him,” Nino defended himself lamely, though his amusement became clear at the end, causing the words to trail off into his laughter. “He could've sold bullshit charms to keep evil ghosts away from people as well, you know? _Amazing_.”

The laughter that escaped her was mostly because it was one of the ideas she and Chloé had had before they'd settled on the drugs. And when she told Nino that, he'd almost doubled over, clutching onto his stomach as he cackled along with her.

Although the lighter stayed on the bottom of the toilet—unable to be flushed away, sadly—she still played with candles after Chloé spoke up and said that it had been a while since she last used her powers freely. Marinette had been a bit cautious, wondering whether her friend was putting on an act and was keeping her feelings a secret—but that was silly. Chloé was always frank about what she was feeling, and wasn't good at _not_ being truthful often.

“You look like you're going to throw up,” Chloé said bluntly as Marinette fetched another lighter from a drawer, not the one that she'd grown fond of. “You haven't killed anyone in over a decade, you're _fine_.”

She blinked rapidly. “You can't just—”

“Talk about my death like it doesn't matter?” Chloé supplied, raising her eyebrows. “I think you'll find that I can, Mari. Also, this means I totally fought your foster faster and fucking won.”

The last comment was just so ridiculous that she had to laugh. “I don't think that's how it works.”

“Bitch, are you fucking dead?” Chloé questioned, narrowing her eyes. “No, so you don't get to decide. I absolutely kicked his ass, and that's why he's not the one haunting you.”

“So you admit you're haunting me.”

She grinned. “I'm saving up my energy to push you out of bed one day.”

Marinette just laughed. “I'd like to see you try.”

It didn't need to be said that Chloé preferred to save it all for eating. Even when they'd discovered when her birthday was, Chloé just shrugged and said that she preferred the ones that she shared with Marinette instead, so she could stay sixteen (a confirmed sixteen, not them estimating), rather than turning out to be over thirty, despite her looks.

When Marinette saw Alix again, it wasn't Alix that invited her.

Alya, surprisingly, had been the one that insisted that she come along, trying to convince her that everyone would be happy to see her, despite Marinette's reluctance the last time she saw the rest of their friends. It was a group dinner to celebrate someone's birthday, and yet, somehow, she'd managed to get herself invited along, with Chloé walking alongside her with her arms stubbornly crossed, already complaining about the loud atmosphere.

The amount of people suddenly mattered less when Alix visibly perked up and shot out of her chair, running to greet her, almost hugging her on instinct.

“Crap, sorry,” Alix apologised, remembering all the instances where Marinette had stiffened and recoiled away from such actions. “What are you doing here with—”

“We're friends,” Alya supplied, grinning widely as she pointed between all four of them, ignoring Alix's suspicious expression. “I did say we were bringing someone along with us. Smile, Alix, you look like you're going to kill me.”

The fact that it was Alya, the one she'd been most scared of after getting over being terrified of Adrien's ability to get rid of Chloé, saying that they were friends was something that made her happier than she thought she would be. She was absolutely sure that there was a ridiculous-looking smile on her lips, but she didn't want to hide it.

Alix just huffed. “Are they bothering you, Marinette?”

“No,” she replied softly, reaching up and tucking some hair behind her ear. “I—I can go, if you don't want me here.”

“Don't be silly,” Adrien interjected. “We outnumber her, anyway, and she's tiny.”

Chloé muttered, “Marinette's smaller than that imp.”

That seemed to be the routine for the evening. Marinette found herself sitting beside Adrien at a large table, a bit overwhelmed from all the comments that were directed her way, but he acted like a buffer when she visibly paused or was unable to think of the right reply, while Chloé made smart comments underneath her breath. At some point, there was heated words coming from a nearby table, and Chloé took it upon herself to investigate what was happening—meaning she wanted to stand near them and listen to their troubles for her own amusement—which left her mostly speaking to Adrien.

They spoke quietly, and he filled her in on information about his friends, including which were together romantically, and explaining a few of the jokes that went over her head. It was sweet, honestly, that he was choosing to spend that much time with her, rather than talking to his others friends that were present at that moment. Alya and Nino were mostly too wrapped up to talk to her more than a few times, and Alix just kept grinning stupidly when she met her gaze across the table.

She didn't jump when their knees touched underneath the table.

“Wanna know a secret?” he asked when they were waiting for dessert.

She blinked. “Sure?”

His version of telling her was to reach into his pocket, then extend the clenched hand underneath the table towards her, until she cupped her hands in a waiting gesture.

A surprised laugh escaped her when little pebbles fell into her hands. They were warm, too, whether from his hands or staying in his pocket for the whole evening.

“Don't these get uncomfortable?” she questioned, picking one up and running her fingers over the smooth texture.

“I tried to use those little rocks that you put in fish-tanks before, but they don't have enough weight to them to actually do any damage,” he explained, picking one up and tossing it a bit in the air, but not high enough to be seen above the table. “These may be little, but they sting, at least, so it's maybe one less punch that I'd have to do otherwise in the long-term.”

She nodded along, a bit lost from having to wonder much stronger her element seemed to be in comparison. “Can't you use dirt?”

He shook his head. “It doesn't extend to plants either, which is a shame. I'd love to just hit someone with a branch.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” came across the table, and Marinette almost lost her hold on the stones, barely able to keep them from falling by directing them towards her lap instead.

She was aware of the heat that had appeared on her face.

“It's a secret,” Adrien replied easily, laughing. “Are you feeling neglected?”

They snorted. “I feel like I'm going to throw up from having to watch you flirting.”

Adjusting the rocks brought attention to her, unfortunately, and it was Alix that called out, “What are you doing, Marinette?”

She was pretty sure that her eyes were wide as they darted to Adrien for some sort of guidance, but he just shrugged, as if to say there was nothing that he could do. So, it was with a sheepish expression that she lifted up one hand with a rock in it for everyone to see.

It just made Alya and Nino roar with laughter.

“We're rock collectors,” Adrien smoothly explained, taking the pebble from her hand and running his fingers over it. “I was just showing her the newest addition to my collection. Isn't it great?”

“...You're a fucking nerd.”

She ended up laughing until her chest protested.

-x-

Having friends other than Chloé was a bit hard to handle. Sometimes, she stared at the multiple messages that she'd received overnight, a bit overwhelmed and not knowing which to respond to first, and it triggered a few almost panic attacks, even though she knew that it was a stupid reason. There were days where she rolled out of bed enthusiastically, wanting to tell Adrien about the ridiculous dream while she could still remember it, and on others, she got up from the excitement she was feeling from meeting up with someone later in the day.

It was a stark difference to back when she'd had to drag herself out of bed.

But, of course, there were still days where she just wanted to wallow, where she felt sad and couldn't do anything to fix it. Even though Adrien could make her laugh for a minute or two with a stupid picture, it couldn't do much to change the depressed mood that she was in where she didn't want to leave her apartment at all.

The first time Adrien came over to her apartment without an invitation, it had startled her so much that she'd almost fallen off the sofa from the sound of the knocking on her door.

She answered it in her pyjamas, staring at him in surprise as he grinned and raised a hand to wave at her.

“I—what?” Marinette stuttered.

“I have a day off today,” he said as a greeting, rocking on his heels as he put his hands into his pockets. “So, I thought it would be a good time to be an accomplice to your illegal deeds.”

She stared, uncomprehending.

“Or not,” Adrien added on when he caught sight of her clothing. “Did I wake you up?”

Shaking her head, Marinette stepped to the side and gestured for him to come inside, closing the door behind him. “No, I was just watching stuff with Chloé.”

He made a noise of understanding. “Can you even do anything else with her?”

“I can hear you, you prick!”

Adrien laughed at that. “No offense! I'm honestly curious.”

“There's not a lot,” she admitted, a bit amused as he reached down and took his his shoes, despite the fact that he'd never asked her to do that at his house (which was positively lavish in comparison to her dinky apartment). “We go to the cinema sometimes, or a karaoke bar. We tried going to a poetry night before, but Chloé called them pretentious fucks and hated it.”

“It was angst and coffee!” Chloé called out. “If I wanted to hear poetry from a sweaty middle-aged man, I can find it in the internet instead.”

It was a speech she'd heard many times in the past, but it never failed to amuse her.

Walking into the living room in his socks, Adrien asked, “Don't you mean Marinette can find it?”

“Minor detail.” Chloé sniffed. “Why are you even here?”

“I was going to try and be open-minded and help out with a drug deal,” he started, shooting a pointed look at Marinette, “but that doesn't seem to be happening, so I'm not really sure.”

After some debate, mostly between him and Chloé, Marinette excused herself to get dressed. As the weather was warming up, meaning she could wear less layers, Adrien asked her whether she wanted to go somewhere with him, not giving a specific place when she'd returned.

Accepting found her a bit bewildered as she said good-bye to Chloé, who'd arranged beforehand to stay behind, after Adrien had turned the television off and put something on on the laptop for her to watch. Adrien just grinned and refused to tell her where they were going when they climbed into his car, and as he hummed along with the songs on the radio, she found herself leaning against the window, closing her eyes and enjoying the sunshine.

At least, until the vehicle stuttered to a halt out of nowhere, making her jump.

Opening her eyes greeted her with the sight of a crowd of people in the distance, and many cars parked around them.

“The beach?” she questioned, surprised.

“Not for the water,” he said vaguely, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I'm still being open-minded today.”

Trying not to kick sand on towels as they walked past, Marinette pulled a face of discomfort as they made their way across the beach. “I haven't got the right shoes for this.”

“So take them off,” Adrien replied. “You can hold onto me for support, if you want.”

Doing just that, she used his forearm for stability as she took her shoes off and then stuffed her socks inside, a little uncomfortable of the feeling of her bare feet on the sand, but it was a lot better than before. Adrien didn't seem to to care that sand was getting into his at all, even though she could see the little flecks sticking onto his white socks.

He promptly sat down near where the sand became wet and the water could reach them.

Glad that she'd put on a skirt, Marinette kneeled beside him and asked, “What are we doing?”

“Well,” he started, sounding thoughtful as he reached down to touch his palms against the wet sand. “This is the kind of thing I could have fun with, right?”

“What?” she blurted, not quite understanding what he meant at first. Then, with the sudden understanding, she had to let out a laugh. “You—you want to use your powers for this?”

He grinned. “To see if I can make a kickass sandcastle? Yes.”

“How will you even know if it's good or not?” Marinette questioned, adjusting her position to get comfortable.

“I'll judge it against yours, of course.”

There wasn't much protest to give. Although the sand got beneath her fingernails, and her backside felt damp, it was fun to be a little bit childish. It was clear that Adrien had the advantage, though; he wasn't making all the sand float, but it was sculpting into the right angles and places that he wanted them to go with just a swish of his hand against the already built walls, and there was something magical about watching him try and use his powers. From the concentrative curve of his eyebrows, to the way he was sticking his tongue out the corner of his mouth—something that almost made her laugh—it was nice to observe him.

Compared to her slanted and crumbling walls, his was a lot better.

“This isn't fair,” she muttered as she tried to make it stable. “I don't even have any tools to work with, while you have some god-given powers.”

He snorted. “I can't believe I've never done this before.”

“Never?”

“No,” he confirmed. “Beaches were scary for me, okay? And I... I was, probably still _am_ , really harsh about some self-made rules that shouldn't really be there in the first place.”

But they were there for a reason. There was obvious ones, of course, that Marinette had picked up on from her own morals, but the ones Adrien had followed had been passed down to him, almost as a birthright when the gene had triggered. Saying they were wrong seemed to be insulting his dead mother, too, which was something that she didn't want to do.

Softly, she pointed out, “It's all you know.”

“Not any more.” She didn't need to look up to know that he was smiling. “I'll try and be less uptight from now on.”

It was such a change to his attitude from before. Her attitude towards that power, in particular, hadn't changed much from the beginning, but she could understand his point of view. To see that he'd grown, to accept her side of things and actually consider it for himself, hadn't seemed possible in the beginning.

“You're not that bad,” Marinette offered. “I was just... I was scared of disappointing you, I think. I'd never really had anyone else other than Chloé in my life before, and I wanted to keep you.”

“Keep me?” he repeated, voice a bit high-pitched before he let out a laugh. “Marinette I—I wouldn't have reacted that badly if you told me about your job.”

Cupping the sand in a sad attempt to make her creation more presentable, she replied, “I don't think I can do anything worse than burning your mother's flowers.”

There was a beat of silence before he answered quietly, “You didn't know.”

“I still shouldn't have,” she insisted, keeping her eyes on her pitiful sandcastle. “But when you started saying how easy fire must've been... it all kind of built up, you know? All the resentment I felt for you having such a good life, and then praising the one thing I've been scared of for years—I just wanted to prove you wrong.”

“You did,” Adrien assured her. “In the worst way possible, but I didn't realise I was being a complete dick about it until I told Alya about your job that day I found you.”

Her lips tugged down into a frown. “Was it that bad?”

“I felt betrayed in a way, I guess,” Adrien answered quietly. Taking a peek at his sandcastle, the difference between the two of them was more clear than ever, especially with how smooth his walls looked. “I thought you were so cool—you still _are—_ but I don't know, really. I thought you'd be exactly like me, so learning that you tricked people for a living felt like the last betrayal there.”

That was understandable, but it was the first words that caught her attention. “You think I'm cool?” she asked, and it came out as a whisper, almost drowned out by the crashing of waves beside them.

“Oh, definitely.” It was something about his voice that made her turn her head and look at him, returning the smile that met his eyes hesitantly. “For everything that you've been through, I think you're a great person. I like being with you.”

The colour that had appeared on his cheeks was hard to miss when it matched the top of his ears.

Still, she couldn't stop herself from murmuring, “No one's ever said that to me before.”

“Well, they should've,” he insisted, looking straight into her eyes. Then, as he shuffled closer, he asked, “Can I put my hand on yours?”

She blinked. “Yes?”

It wasn't the romantic scene she'd seen on the shows or films that Chloé liked to watch. Instead, Adrien put his hand upon the back of her own that was touching the sandcastle, then she could feel the sand practically vibrate underneath her palm, the shifting of it able to be felt and visible as it moved.

He withdrew his hand as swiftly as it had came, barely giving her the chance to notice the difference in their skin temperature, and grinned at his handiwork. “It's only fair, right?”

A bit bewildered by the casual use of his power, she blurted, “What?”

“To make up for your lack of tools,” Adrien pointed out, gesturing proudly towards the one wall that wasn't collapsing on itself. “I feel kind of bad for the people that are surely looking over towards us, but it can't be too bad.”

Shaking her head, she went back to trying to make the rest of her pitiful castle match. “Do you think it's kinda like a headache if they keep looking over?”

“From what I've been told, yeah,” he responded, and his elbow almost knocked into her from their close distance. “Can you imagine if they could actually see the shit we can do? We wouldn't be able to do anything.”

She had to add on, “And if we couldn't control people.”

“Aggressively persuade,” Adrien corrected, audibly trying not to laugh. “I know you didn't have it, but I really bonded with my mother when I inherited all this. I used to sit in the garden for hours with her, playing around with rocks while she tended to her plants.”

Adjusting how she was sat, and causing sand to get further up her damp skirt in an uncomfortable way, Marinette admitted, “It wasn't all bad. I had Chloé, at least, and she used to try and teach me the best insults to say to the kids that picked on me.”

“You were picked on?” he questioned, sounding concerned.

She looked up to him with raised eyebrows. “Wasn't everyone?”

“I guess so,” he agreed reluctantly, lips curling down into a frown. “I just... I don't like the thought of you having to go through that.” Then, as if he'd realised what he'd said, he hastily averted her gaze back to the sandcastle, refusing to look at her.

The top of his ears had coloured again.

“I tried to make friends with ghosts without realising what they were at first,” Marinette admitted, leaning back and putting her weight onto her palms as she stared at the clear sky above them, squinting as she wished she'd brought along some sunglasses. “They did attack me a few times, and sometimes they screamed, too, which is the _worst_.”

He made a noise of understanding. “They never really talk coherently, do they?”

“Not from what I can remember,” she confirmed. “A few screamed demands that made no sense, with no context at all, and other times it was words that I didn't even understand. The ones I've met recently just make pained noises, though.”

Adrien just shrugged. “I'm not the expert here.”

“Between you and me, you're practically a wise old man.”

Dramatically, he placed a sandy hand over his heart. “That hurts!” he exclaimed loudly, laughter spilling from his lips. “I'm only a few months older than you, you know.”

“You're the one that's devoted himself to following the sacred texts that have been passed down to you,” she pointed out, flicking some sand his way.

He laughed and caused it to fall to the ground before it could touch him, a split-second reaction that looked effortless. “I've added onto it,” he revealed. “A bit in the fire section, and at the end to say that it's only to bend the rules a little.”

“A little to sell drugs?”

“ _Fake_ drugs,” he emphasised. “It's quite an admirable feat, even though it doesn't count for retirement.”

With a laugh, Marinette sat back up properly and patted her sandcastle again. “Honestly, I didn't think I'd make it for longer than a couple more years, so I've never really cared about that stuff.”

“Do you—” Adrien started quietly before he cleared his throat, pausing. “Do you think you'll be around for longer now?”

It was a loaded question.

It wasn't just her and Chloé side-by-side as Marinette pushed everyone away from her in fear. She had friends, ones that knew about her and accepted her for what she was, and she was capable of talking to someone without slipping up when she looked into their eyes. She was happy when she saw the messages she'd gotten over the night, even the silly pictures that Adrien sent her out of nowhere, and she looked forward to the day when she had plans to meet up with others.

But she wasn't doing it all for them; she was doing the things that made herself happy, focusing on what was good for her, rather than trudging along and staying to keep Chloé company.

She had more to live for than to be someone's companion.

“Yeah,” she whispered, smile reaching her eyes. “I think so.”

-x-

When Adrien found out that she wasn't carrying her lighter around any more, he insisted that she needed to do more than just play with candles when she was feeling confident. It was because of that that he'd invited her and Chloé round his house for the evening—meaning she packed pyjamas that time, so she didn't wake up in her clothes from the previous day in the guest room like she had the last time—and she found herself outside as he took the sheet off of a barbeque as though it was a glorious reveal.

It was rusty and wonky.

As the weather was hot, his plan was for her to help him cook dinner over the flames while Alya and Nino entertained Chloé further down the garden.

“I'm not sure about this,” she muttered as he'd already started to set up, having brought up a foldable table that he set up to put the raw food on. “This really isn't a good idea.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “You just need someone to teach you to cook, that's all.”

He'd gotten two brightly-coloured foldable seats for them, and revealed that the three of them had splurged and bought matching equipment, including a tent, when they'd first moved in together (not that they'd ever actually gone camping, an excuse always came up instead, stopping them from going—the latest had been Alya's period).

It was one of the first times someone had said that to her—the first had been Chloé, but it had ended in disaster, making her avoid using more than the microwave. “I manage just fine on my own, thank you.”

“Stop spending your morally ambiguous drug money on takeaways,” Adrien said, deliberately pointing a finger her way. “It's a mystery how you're so thin when all you eat is probably crap.”

She stared down at herself. “Chloé tries to get me to eat more.”

“You need your energy to chase down ghosts,” he replied, wiping his hands on his shorts and leaving a darkened smudge on the material.

“Absolutely not,” Marinette rejected him without missing a beat. “Unless one attacks me or lives near my building, I'm not going out of my way to do anything about them.”

Adrien muttered a curse underneath his breath. “You can't say I didn't try to sway you.”

“You're terrible at being a motivation speaker,” she said bluntly. “You've just made me want to help even less.”

He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder, dimples showing as he smiled. “Leaving all the work up to me so I can show off, right?”

She blinked. “Sure.”

Keeping her hands to herself, she just stared as he started to cook the food and try and keep the conversation flowing naturally, but she eventually had to admit that she didn't feel comfortable with what they were doing.

“I'm not pushing you to help me,” Adrien pointed out with a small smile. “And the flames are hardly acting any different than usual, so you're doing well.”

She frowned. “I may be fireproof, but you're not.”

“Neither are your clothes, I noticed before,” he mused. “How did you find that out?”

It was a diversion tactic, but she gave in, sitting down on one of the ridiculous chairs as she answered them, keeping her eyes on the fire that was visible from her height. It helped that the barbeque that he'd bought was little, meaning he towered over it with his tall stature, which was already emphasised when she was sat down beside him.

If she felt little, she had to wonder how his students felt beside him.

“So,” she started when he'd flipped over the food. “You teach ballet.”

“Yes,” he confirmed, nodding his head. “I'm surprised it took you this long to ask.”

She snorted. “Technically, I haven't asked anything yet.”

“Okay, okay,” he gave in with a laugh. “Ask away and try and surprise me, then.”

“Did you think having a job that would use your power would be... unfair?” Marinette questioned, choosing her last word carefully. “I mean, you could've done so many things, just like I could've been a chef, I guess.”

Adrien turned his head to flash her a smile. “You could've been a kickass blacksmith, too. Anything to do with fire, really. Even one of those performers that throws flaming stuff in the air as an act.”

Thinking about to how she used to fumble in class when they had to play sports, she had to laugh. The only reason she was considered a little bit healthy was because of her walking everywhere just so she could avoid everyone as much as possible.

“Didn't want to get into landscaping, then?”

“No way,” Adrien denied, shuddering in an exaggerated way that made her smile. “I hate the feeling of dirt under my nails, I would've gone mad.”

Marinette laughed. “You poor thing.”

“So you can't touch really hot things, right?” Adrien questioned, contemplative. “Only fire?”

“Only fire,” she confirmed. “If there's fire on something and I... put it out, then there's a split second or so before it starts to hurt when it's gone. It's a really tiny window where I don't get hurt.”

He whistled. “Yours sounds a lot more complicated than mine.”

“What annoys you the most, then?” Marinette asked curiously. “Other than the beach when you're emotional, of course.”

“Of course,” he mimicked, smile clear in his voice as he went back to tending the food. “Probably tarmac. It's slowly getting everywhere and I can't use it at _all_. The amount of ghosts that had gotten away because of it is actually starting to get on my nerves.”

The image of him cursing because of the ground he was standing on made her laugh. “Not so good at your job, are you?”

“Well, maybe if I had _someone_ to help me out—”

They were interrupted by Alya, who wanted of them to translate Chloé's opinion that she and Nino had been fighting about. As it turned out, leaving a ghost with two people who couldn't hear her hadn't worked out well, especially when Alya had taken to putting on a high-pitched voice and pretending to be Chloé after they'd forgotten about her for a few minutes.

“They're fucking idiots,” Chloé complained as she came over and sat down in one of the foldable chairs, taking it before Alya could (she was warned by Adrien holding his arm out to prevent her from sitting). “Just because I'm permanently sixteen doesn't mean I'm actually sixteen, you know?”

Marinette tried to contain her laughter. “Yes, you're very mature, Chloé.”

“Did we offend you, Chlo?” Alya questioned, looking in the wrong direction as she addressed her.

Chloé haughtily raised her chin. “Tell them to stop trying to fucking give me a nickname.”

When Adrien laughed at that, Marinette couldn't herself any more. It was a decade long rant that had never left, and her stubbornness that nicknames only ruined her name when it was already so short was as present as ever.

“Open the door so I can leave,” Chloé demanded when the only two people that could talk to her were too busy laughing to properly translate what she was saying. “I'm clearly not appreciated here. Maybe I'll go outside and find some unsuspecting stranger to pray on, then I'll have the energy to kick your asses for fucking _laughing_ at me.”

It was just nice to see everyone interact, even when Alya and Nino ended up talking to air where they assumed Chloé was, and they kept glancing over to either her or Adrien to find out what her reaction was. It was a big difference to Alya's freaked out reaction from finding out that there was a ghost in her home the first time, and the fact that Chloé found them amusing enough to be around was a plus, too.

When she looked back over to see him turning the food again, the curve of his nose clear along with his jawline from how he was turned to the side, she became aware of the warmth in her chest, a feeling of happiness from knowing that he'd been able to to help her so much, and she'd managed to respond in kind, allowing him to loosen up a little.

Even when he called her over and convinced her to be the one to put the new food on the grill, putting aside the already cooked ones to cool down a little as Alya and Nino went to get drinks for everyone (including Chloé, since Alya wanted to take a picture of all their drinks with little umbrellas in them, even though she wouldn't drink any of it).

She didn't panic when Adrien's shoulder touched hers, or when their hands brushed when he passed something over to her, and that was a feat in itself.

It wasn't her trying to be presentable in his eyes any more; Adrien knew about what she did in her free time, how grumpy she was in the mornings, especially the ones where she only responded to his messages with single word replies, and the parts that she was ashamed of. But, despite that, he thought she was _cool_ and wanted to be her friend.

It was a sudden realisation that she wasn't looking for acceptance any more.

As she looked to the side to see him smiling gently at her, Marinette blurted, “I think I have a crush on you.”

His eyes widened in surprise, lips parted as though he was going to talk, and she was sure she looked just as shocked that she'd said it at all, and any response he was planning to give was interrupted by the sudden roaring flames that shot up and licked her hand.

As Adrien shrieked in surprise, Marinette dropped the utensil in surprise—the flames were still flickering, covering the food completely, much higher than they should've been—and took a step back, shaking her hand in an instinctual reaction.

When Nino called out to ask whether they were okay, Adrien shouted back, “Everything's fine!”

She was absolutely sure her face was as warm as the utensil that she'd just dropped. “Sorry,” she offered lamely, trying to calm down and return the flames back to normal. “I think I burned the food.”

He just burst into honest laughter, the sound breathy, and she couldn't stop herself from joining in. “I—” Adrien wheezed out, taking a moment to sigh as he pushed his hair back with one hand. “I really shouldn't have trusted you with this already, right?”

“I was doing pretty well.” She shrugged. “And I warned you that it was a bad idea.”

“Well until you got distracted,” he corrected, picking up another utensil to poke at the food that had suffered because of her. “It's not too bad, actually. We can eat around the worst parts.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I'd rather not.”

“Were you kidding just now?” Adrien asked her quietly as he pushed the food aside, putting it on a different plate to the ones he'd cooked. “About liking me, I mean.”

She fiddled with the belt around her waist. “No.”

“Oh,” he breathed, sounding shocked as she became aware of the fast beating of her heart. “I just—I thought you didn't feel that way about me, honestly. Especially after I kind of confessed to you when we were fighting.”

That caused her to pause. Off of the top of her head, she couldn't actually remember what he was talking about, so that prompted her to eloquently reply, “What?”

With bashful body language, Adrien raised his hand to touch the back of his hair as he slowly explained, “I—it was back when I found out about your job. Do you remember?”

It was a bit hard to forget the disappointment that he'd had for her, especially since it was the first time they'd seen each other since the fire. “I remember that,” she said, voice cracking a bit. “But you didn't... you didn't _confess_. Why would you even do that? You—”

“Had a huge crush on you?” Adrien interrupted her. “Yeah.”

She swallowed. “Past tense?”

“Still present,” he assured her softly, a fond smile on his lips that showed the indents on his cheeks. “Are you sure you didn't notice? I was trying hard to impress you whenever you came over.”

It didn't seem embarrassing for her to admit, “I was too busy trying to get your approval, I think.”

“Approval?” he repeated under his breath, a bit stunned at the choice of word. “You didn't—you didn't need for me to accept you, Marinette. You were a bit of a mess, yes, but it wasn't a secret that I had an ulterior motive for befriending you.”

“You wanted a sidekick,” she said.

He rolled his green-coloured eyes. “That's still very much present tense, too.”

The warm feeling was still there, and her cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling. However, as nice as it was, Marinette found herself confessing, “I don't really know what I'm doing.”

“When do you ever?” he quipped, laughing when she shot him a glare. “I'd be a bit surprised if you did, honestly. When we met, you didn't even know how to have friends.”

“I have friends now,” she pointed out, wondering whether she should've felt lame for being proud of that. It was something that she should've been able to say as a little kid, not a twenty-two-year-old. “I've... never really had anything other than have a few crushes growing up, and I never acted on them.”

Adrien grinned widely. “Then, I'd like to offer my services to be your teacher once more.”

A bit bashful, she asked, “What would these lessons entail?”

“Asking to hold your hand in a romantic way, rather than just to help you build a sandcastle,” Adrien listed off, holding up one finger as he counted. “A lot of hugs, I hope. I'm big on hugging.”

She laughed. “That doesn't sound too hard.”

“I'm not done yet,” Adrien chastised her teasingly, turning towards her fully as he held up a third finger. “Hopefully some kissing, if I manage to get you to like me enough for that.”

Marinette grinned, looking up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, the fondness in his voice just making her smile more. “And maybe, just maybe, if I'm lucky enough, you'll smite a dead person to save me the trouble of having bruised knuckles for a few days.”

It was so out of nowhere that her laughter was abrupt and loud, and she immediately raised a hand to cover her mouth, all the while continuing to laugh, the sound only increasing as Adrien shamelessly joined in. The hand that he'd been counting off on fell down to his side, since he'd listed off everything that he wanted to, from the pause, and she only hesitated a bit before she reached out to intertwine their fingers.

It was a lot more intimate than when they'd been at the beach; from the way he was looking down at her, smile reaching his eyes and showing such happiness that she didn't feel uncomfortable seeing, all of it made her feel happy to be beside him.

“I'm giving my approval to some of them,” Marinette declared. “The last one doesn't really sound like something normal couples would do.”

Adrien's smile showed his teeth. “What if I promise to hold your lighter until you need it whenever we go out together? It'll be like when you see boyfriends holding bags.”

“I haven't taken a lighter outside since I tried to flush one down the toilet,” she pointed out.

“It's even more romantic if I hold onto it all the time for you, then,” he replied, squeezing her hand gently. “It's always good to be prepared, right?”

She rolled her eyes. “What if I just want to admire you in action?”

“If you just wanted to look at my body, you'd come to my ballet lessons,” Adrien had the gall to say. “And I don't think it's appropriate to stare at my ass until our third date, at least.”

“It's bold of you to think we'll make it that far.”

With a laugh, Adrien asked, “So what do you say, Marinette?”

Shyly, she looked up at him as she replied, “I'm looking forward to our first lesson.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://xiueryn.tumblr.com) (*´―`*)♥


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